


Hope for Light

by tklivory



Series: Kalindra Tabris [1]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Blight fic, Coming of Age, Drama, F/F, F/M, Loss, Miscarriage, Non Consensual, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:24:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 85,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tklivory/pseuds/tklivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kalindra Tabris has already lost much in her life, but always she hoped for a bright future. When even that is taken away, she must embrace a life dedicated to a single purpose: stop the Blight. Though she fights demons and darkness both within and without as she travels across Ferelden, still she refuses to give in to the doubts which threaten to drag her back into the pain of her past. Yet deep down, she never gives up the last hope: the Hope for Light. </p><p>Rating for: Sexual content, violence, mature themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta readers, Mille Libri and HereThereBeDragons!

_I dance under the Tree, listening to the wind moving through its leaves and my hair.  I hear my mother’s voice talking to me, telling me about the tree and where it came from, that long ago in a faraway place there were many trees like it throughout the land, a land in which we walked free with our heads held high, and no shem told us what to do or hurt us if we disobeyed.  It is a magic land, the land that was, and it is the land that makes my mother happy to talk about._

_The sun sparkles on the leaves, reflecting off the early morning dew.  I laugh as the birds fly in the branches of the Tree, talking and warbling amongst themselves, making nests and planning for their babies to come.  I look at my mother, imploring her to remove the scarf that hides the tattoo on her forehead, and run to her for a hug when she does so, reaching up to trace the whorls and swirls of its design, so fascinating, so beautiful._

_I am happy.  So very, very happy._

Someday, _I tell her,_ I want to have a daughter of my very own that I can hug and kiss just like this.

Someday, _she tells me, a smile on her face as she pulls me close for a hug and a kiss,_ you will.

 

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

 

“Hold still, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Kalindra obeyed the directive impatiently as Shianni attached the second sleeve onto the dress, the tip of her tongue sticking out as she concentrated on pinning cloth and not skin.  Standing motionless on the stool in front of her was proving to be a difficult task when Kalindra was so eager to see the results.  Once the pin was in place, Shianni stepped back and regarded the woman in the dress, a wide grin coming to her face.  “Should I uncover the mirror yet?” she asked in a teasing tone of voice.

Kalindra debated the question, wringing her hands.  Part of her wanted to wait until the dress was fully sewn and officially complete, but the other part of her...  “Yes, yes, go ahead!” she sighed, once again losing the fight with her patience to the evident amusement of her cousin. “You knew I wouldn’t be able to wait, didn’t you?”

The red-haired elf chuckled as she reached to move the cotton tablecloth from its place covering the full-length mirror they’d borrowed from Alarith’s shop.  “Let’s just say I had my suspicions.  Patience has never been your strong suit, cousin.”  There was perhaps a hint of reprimand in the tone, but not more than Kalindra had heard at any other point in the past few years when she had egged the Cousins Tabris into mischief upon mischief.  “Stubbornness, perhaps - but _not_ patience.”

Dismissing the comment with a flip of her hand, Kalindra fixed her eyes on the discolored copper mirror, devouring the image of herself in her mother’s dress. They’d added a midriff and altered the length to make it more Fereldan, as Rivaini fashion tended to make heads turn and brows rise here in Denerim.  Her hands smoothed over the material on her stomach, then moved up to her chest as she twisted a bit with a slight frown.  “Do you think the top is a bit too tight?”

“I think it’s just right,” Shianni said softly, eyes lingering on the indicated area before rising to meet the green gaze of the soon-to-be-bride.  She winced slightly and looked away when she saw the pity in the other’s gaze.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just...”

Kalindra hesitantly lay a hand on her cousin’s shoulder, unsure exactly what to say, or if anything _could_ be said at all - it had been _years_ ago, after all.  After some awkward silence, she withdrew her hand and returned to performing minute adjustments to the dress, making mental notes of what to modify in the garment before the dress was finalized, allowing the other woman time to collect herself.

Eventually Shianni cleared her throat and turned her attention once more to the mirror, eyes suspiciously bright.  “Well, that’s me being silly out of the way,” she said with a lopsided grin.  “It’s going to be one of the happiest days of your life, Kal.  No need for me to cover your sunshine for it.”  She forced a chuckle, a sound that became less strained as it progressed.  “You’ve always wanted children; here’s your best chance for it.”

Her hands stopped where they were, hovering over her womb.  She had ached for a child of her own for so long, even before her mother had been killed.  Whenever she saw another woman in the Alienage with a full womb or child in hand, that emptiness deep within reverberated with _want_ and _need._   _I may no longer have my mother,_ she thought to her mottled reflection, _but I will give to my child the same love my mother gave to me._   She remembered her mother’s last words to her that day, the same words she had always used to say goodbye: _“Take my love and pass it on, little Fox.”_

“Yes,” she replied quietly.  “It is.”

“You’re thinking of your mother, aren’t you?” Kalindra turned to the source of the voice, a man with tired eyes standing in the doorway to the outside world.  She watched her father close the front door and walk over to her, a sad smile on his face.  One of his hands reached up to touch the crease that had appeared in between her brows.  “You always get this furrow when you think of her,” he commented.

Her own fingers touched the unhappy lines that had emerged around his mouth in the last few years, replacing the laugh lines that had been there.  “We each bear our scars.”

His eyes lowered to the self-inflicted scars etched in her right cheek, a stylistic representation of a fox, but wisely said nothing of it.  He stepped back, away from her pitying touch, and regarded her with the weary gaze she always wanted to soothe away.  “You are so very like her.”  She had heard this from more than just her father.  At least when her father said it, she knew he was referring to more than the darkness of her skin.  “I still remember when I first saw her, in Valendrian’s house.  We all thought she would succumb to the pneumonia after that shipwreck...”  A smile lit his lips for a moment as his eyes grew distant.  “But she did not.”

Kalindra responded to it with one of her own, grateful to see his joy even for so short a time.  “No, she did not.”  She reached out to him, wanting her father to return to her.  “She awoke and saw you.”

The smile deepened, and for a moment she saw those laugh lines return.  Then his gaze focused on her, on the _present_ , and it all vanished, pushed aside by the all-too-familiar look of self-recrimination.  “For all the good it did her.  I should have let her go home. I should have let her become--” Shaking his head, he turned from her and moved to his bed, just barely wide enough to fit one person - not that he used it to sleep.

Shianni reacted to the flash of hurt on her cousin’s face by taking her hand.  “Come. I know what I need to alter.” Wordlessly, they removed the dress and put it back on the mannequin for Shianni to finish before the festivities tomorrow.  The whole time, her father sat hunched on his bed, ignoring them as he turned an old and desiccated wreath of white flowers over and over in his hands. “Why don’t you go to the Tree while I finish up?” Shianni suggested, well familiar with Cyrion’s moods  She held out the flowers they’d picked earlier that day in the fields outside Denerim.  “Go on.  Honor your mother’s memory.”

Taking the fresh blossoms, she nodded and headed towards the door, glancing at her father.  Her father never looked up once as she left, lost in the blighted promises of the past.

.~^~.

Above her the branches of the Tree swayed in the wind, filtering the sunlight into beautiful little patches that dotted the bare dirt around its base.  She laid a hand on the broad trunk, feeling the mixture of awe and remorse that had filled the hole in her heart since her mother’s death.  According to her mother, this Tree was one of the last connections the elves had to the old lands and that jewel of legend, Arlathan.  For a moment she closed her eyes, trying to imagine an entire city of elves with no holes in their clothing and no shem in sight... and, again, could not.  _Maybe it was different among the Dalish, Mother.  In that, I envy you._

With a light sigh, she knelt before the tree, among the many knots and gnarls of the roots, and carefully spread the flowers she had gathered among them, as her mother had instructed her. _One for each Creator, one for Arlathan, one for the Dales, and one for Shartan._ The placement was guided by the memory of another woman’s hands upon hers, murmuring the name of each God in turn as she laid the flowers.  Her lips moved soundlessly with the memories, asking for the blessing of each deity upon her upcoming union.  Only after she had carefully placed the last flower - red, for the blood Shartan had spilled for his people - did she realize that someone was standing behind her.

Startled, she turned and looked up into a clear brown gaze.  “Soris!” she said.  “I wasn’t expecting you to be out and about.”  She held out a hand, which he took, pulling her to her feet easily.  “I would have thought Aunt Delia wouldn’t let you out of her sight until your wreath was firmly around your wife’s head.” She laughed at Soris’ pained expression.  “I’ve never seen a parent so keen to have their child married off.”

“She just wants a grandchild, you know that,” he groused, then winced as Kalindra’s laugh faltered. “I’m sorry, Kal, it’s just--”

She put her hand around his elbow, cutting off his apology. “No, you’re right. She _does_ want a grandchild.  And another wage earner in the house, hopefully.”  She ran a finger down the sleeve of his new - and only - finery, its acquisition for the wedding due in part to coin gifted by Cyrion and herself. “You look handsome,” she observed, and it was true: he’d blossomed quite a bit from the awkward teenager of just a few years ago into a rather fine specimen.

“I’d return the compliment, but I’m not supposed to do that until you’re _in_ your wedding dress, right?” he joked, a grin playing along his face as they turned away from the tree and headed towards her house.

“If you insist,” she said with a sniff of disdain that quickly turned into a grin of her own. “And take it while you can get it, ser - you only get to wear it twice, you know.  For the ceremony and--”

“--and the marriage breakfast the next morning, I know.” He shuddered. “That’s why I had to get out of there.  Mother was dithering herself into a right mess, what with Valendrian moving the wedding to tonight--”

“What?” she interrupted, confused. “I thought they weren’t _arriving_ until tonight.” Her heart had sped up slightly, and the ends of her fingers began to tingle. “Unless... they’re _here_?”

He looked at her quizzically.  “They got here not an hour ago. Valendrian called Mother and your father to his house to let them know that he had decided to change the time of the ceremony. Mother Boann has already been notified.” He shook his head. “Uncle didn’t tell you? That’s the only reason Mother let him out of her clutches, because someone had to let you and Shianni know about the change of plans.”

Now she looked away, remembering her father’s silence and the old, dried wreath in his hands.  “No,” she said quietly.  “No, he didn’t. He... forgot, I suppose.”

She felt his arm settle around her shoulders. Even if it was common knowledge that Cyrion seemed to have died along with his wife, it was still not common _conversation._ “Come on,” he said quietly. “I’m sure you’d like to be in your own formal attire before meeting him.”

Nodding wordlessly, she allowed him to lead her to her house.  Today was going to be a _happy_ day... it _had_ to be.

 _It_ had _to be._

.~^~.

After a furious bout of sewing and pricked fingers and giggles and restored good cheer, Kalindra looked at herself in the mirror, beaming.  It wasn’t _perfect_ \- there was an uneven line under one arm and the back of the dress at the waist had been an experiment in how to integrate a new midriff into a dress for someone with a solid set of abdominal muscles - but, as Soris said with a smirk, “Clothes are there to make you want to take them off.” He was almost shooed out of the house for _that_ little remark, save that even Cyrion chuckled, if weakly, and so the ladies forgave him his impertinence.

That meant, however, that it was time to emerge from the house and go meet the prospective spouses.  Shianni was a bit worse for wear given the haste with which they had plowed through the dress while trying to make it acceptable, and was allowed the first sip of wine in celebration of the big event as a reward.  They left the house, the ladies flanking Soris on either side, and headed back towards the Tree.  They each snuck bits of wine as they strolled through the Alienage, for relaxation or fortitude, and because it was almost a tradition for the wedding to be conducted in a state of slight tipsiness.

Just as they rounded the corner of the houses that led to the main square, however, Shianni pulled them to a halt. “Wait, wait, wait,” she said, gnawing her lower lip. Almost without thinking, Kalindra reached up and pulled that lip out from between her teeth, a habit she’d gotten into after the summer that Shianni had worried her lip into a perpetual red sore. Batting her cousin’s hand away, Shianni said, “No, wait, I mean it! I just realiz’d ‘m not in _my_ dress!” Her hands flew to her hair. “And m’ hair! You go meet Mis-mis-mister Perfect. I’ll be there inna bit.”

Soris could not suppress a snort as Shianni weaved across the street to their house, bottle still in hand. “She finished that dress two weeks ago and tries it on every day ‘to make sure it still fits’ - and now I wonder if she’s sober enough to pick out the right one.” His brow drew together. “It’s odd, though. She keeps talking about ‘the wedding this’ and ‘the wedding that’ - but any time she mentions _whose_ wedding, it was always _my_ wedding, never yours.” He glanced at Kalindra’s face, then shrugged. “Maybe that’s for the best. Come on, let’s go meet the lucky groom. Mother said she’d send them out to the tree once they were ready.”

As they started for the tree, she said, “You never did tell me about your bride.” She saw his grimace, though to his credit he did try to hide it. Lowering her voice, she said, “Oh, come on, she can’t be _that_ bad.” Drawing him to a halt, she asked quietly, “What’s wrong?”

He wouldn’t quite look at her, his focus on something in the middle distance behind her. “Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s... quiet, but then, around Mother, anyone would be.” Finally he grinned and met her gaze. “Well, except you.” Just as quickly, though, his eyes skittered away, returning to where he had been looking before. “It’s just... she’s not... She...”

Kalindra glanced in the direction of his gaze and found a tall, short-haired elf at the other end of it,  looking back with an equally unsure and helpless gaze. Not sure what to say, she just put her hand on Soris’ arm, letting him know she understood. “She’s not Taeodor,” she finished for him.

Eyes squeezing shut, he nodded. It was another of those matters that was never discussed in the family, just as Cyrion’s worsening melancholy was known but never aired. “Mother... she--” His mouth snapped shut, and the muscles of his jaw rippled in the dimming light. “Come on.” Wrenching out of her grasp, Soris resumed their path to the tree.

With a quiet sigh, Kalindra started to follow him, stopping only when a loud _crack_ echoed in the crisp air. Dimly aware that Soris had also stopped and was returning to her side, she turned to see Shianni - in the correct dress, with a new wine bottle in hand - and the other bridesmaids surrounded by a small group of _shem_. Eyes narrowing, she started to move forward when Soris put a cautionary hand on her arm.

“Those clothes are expensive,” he cautioned, ever the son of a tailor even if he lacked the skill himself. “Maybe they’re just merchants, maybe they’re more.”

Pulling out of his grasp, Kalindra grimly made her way forward, her eyes on the growing red mark on Shianni’s face and remembering the sound that had drawn her attention in the first place.

Her hands ached for the knives her father insisted she keep hidden from the rest of the Alienage, and her steps hurried as another shem drew his hand back to strike. _Never again,_ she swore, and without thinking she reached down, took a small stone, and threw it with practiced accuracy, striking the shem in the back of the neck. It was luck that dictated the stone have a sharp edge that sliced through his skin. Still, redness on his skin seemed ample payment for the darkening mark on Shianni’s face.

With a small curse, the hand was diverted from violence to soothing as the shem instinctively looked around for the source of the unexpected attack. For a brief second, his eyes met hers and narrowed, his wrath evident even across the distance between them, just as Shianni’s infamous temper asserted itself and she wasted a perfectly good bottle of wine by smashing it on the man’s head. Without another sound, the red-haired shem’s eyes rolled up into his head as he crumpled to the ground.

Though Kalindra couldn’t contain her laughter, the man’s companions swore luridly and began to bluster. However, by now even more denizens of the slums had gathered. There had been only three of the shem to begin with, and now the odds were clearly against them. Still, as they blustered and threatened, she looked at the man lying on the ground and frowned. There was something familiar about his profile, if nothing else.

“...Arl Urien’s son!” Those words from the two remaining shems suddenly drew her attention and she heard Shianni moan in dismay.

And suddenly, she _did_ remember him. Or, at least, remembered him lying sprawled on a bed in the Gnawed Noble Tavern, snoring from the drugged wine that had been delivered to his room while she carefully but thoroughly pilfered every last silver and copper from his pouch and relieved him of his jewelry before slipping out the window into the night.

Her hand quickly covered the grin on her face. Oh, if only her father knew about _those_ activities of hers... Slim Couldry did have his little vendettas, that he most _certainly_ did. And when the son of the Arl of Denerim was foolish enough to attempt a rendezvous with someone on the basis of a rather scandalous yet anonymous note, well... who was Slim to ignore such a lucrative opportunity?

Especially when he’d written the note himself...

Still, as the two humans carted the unfortunate Bann away, she hurried to Shianni’s side and hugged her, gently lifting her chin to look at the mark on her face. “You should go put some cool water on that,” she said quietly. “We’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Again Shianni pushed her hand away, although this time she was smiling - at least, as much as her face would allow. “I’ve had worse.” Another unspoken family matter, and one they both quickly danced away from. As the crowd began to move back to the torchlit area around the tree, decorated sparingly but elegantly with whatever Soris’ mother could get her hands on for the ceremony, Shianni touched her cheek and winced, but didn’t lose her grin. “Go on. I’ll be right there. Besides, what was it Mother used to say? ‘Once the worst has happened, it can only get better.’”

She smiled, remembering the seemingly unflappable woman, brave right through her sickness all the way to her last day. “Yeah. Still, I suppose that relieves you of the need to be the worst part of the wedding, then.”

Shianni stuck out her tongue and started walking back to her house. “See if I try to find any more laughter in trying times for you.”

Chuckling, she turned-- and found herself face to face with Soris and two people, a man and a woman, that she did not know. Since there were no other visitors in the Alienage at this time, her eyes instantly gravitated to the unknown man as a light blush crept across her cheeks.

“Are you all right?” the man asked, his face drawn with concern. “We heard the commotion even from the other side of the tree.”

“I’m fine,” she assured them, and watched his face slowly shift from simple concern to a growing personal interest. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Soris?”

Her cousin rolled his eyes, but complied. “As I’m sure you’ve already deduced, this handsome man is Nelaros. Nelaros, I’d like to introduce you to...” She heard his grin more than saw it, given that her gaze was still locked on the handsome man’s features. “...your blushing bride.”

Shooting Soris a quelling look, she stepped forward, then hesitated, unsure what, _exactly_ , to do. A kiss seemed... well, _certainly_ too much with a complete stranger, and a handshake seemed equally too little for a future husband. She bit the inside of her lower lip, and settled for putting her hand hesitantly around his elbow, since it was expected that they would walk apart to talk alone for a few minutes.

Those precious minutes flew by all too quickly for her liking, and, she thought, for his as well. By the time Soris interrupted them, they had managed to find a relatively secluded area and moved right past the first chaste kiss into the first light, exploratory touches of ears and tailbone, two areas that she knew quite well from her explorations with Shianni. To her utter delight, he demonstrated a thorough knowledge of their delicious power as well. She was giggling and gasping when Soris cleared his throat pointedly - twice - to get their attention, and held up his hands as two disapproving glares were leveled at him. “Mother’s orders,” he said in a defensive tone. “She needs your final blessing for the feast, Kal.”

A sigh of regret escaped her, then exchanged a glance full of the promise of _later_ with her now-blushing groom. She waved at him as Soris drew her away, then latched onto her cousin’s arm. “Oh, he’s _perfect!”_ Sighing contentedly, she quickly made some adjustments to her hair and dress as she continued, “I wonder if this is what Mother felt when she met Father? Once she’d recovered from the pneumonia, I mean.”

Soris laughed. “I think your Father sitting at her bedside _while_ she recovered didn’t hurt either,” he pointed out.

“No, I suppose not.” Reining in her enthusiasm, she looked around for... for... “Where’s _your_ blushing bride?” she asked. “Or is she with Aunt Delia?”

Now he groaned softly as he dramatically raised a hand to his face. “Don’t remind me. They’re getting along together better than two Mabari on a hunt. I’m doomed to a life of women underfoot, especially if we have a daughter.”

She glanced sidelong at him, not at all fooled by his words. He sounded... almost eager, now. Whatever they had talked about in _their_ few minutes together must have gone well, even if she wasn’t Taeodor. “Well, at least she can distract Aunt Delia’s attention.”

He visibly brightened. “There is that,” he admitted.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, starting with the whirlwind that was her aunt. Delia swooped in and latched onto Kalindra as soon as she caught sight of her, dragging her into the final preparations for the celebratory breakfast feast the following morning. She came to know Soris’ little mouse quite well, seeing immediately why the overbearing Delia had approved: the mouse had some steel underneath, even if she hadn’t chosen to show it yet. She and Valora quickly winnowed through what _had_ to be finalized and what they could leave in Delia’s hands, just in time for Shianni and the other bridesmaids to arrive, wedding wreaths in hand, to take them to stand before Valendrian and Mother Boann.

And so Kalindra was married, under the Tree and stars, just as her Mother had wished: according to the ways of the Dalish she’d been taught as a child. When Nelaros placed the wreath on her head, she knew that only her Mother’s presence could possibly have made the night more perfect. They gave their vows to each other under the gibbous moon, though Kalindra and Nelaros were, perhaps, a trifle more enthusiastic about the matter than Soris and Valora. Soon the happy couples were herded to the two houses whose use for the first evening as a married couple was considered a gift - a luxury of privacy indeed, in the Alienage where the population was so dense that _nothing_ , not even a trip to the privy, could truly be considered _private._ When the wandering hand of her groom elicited a gasp from her on the way, Kalindra even noticed a hesitant smile finally settle on her cousin’s face, indicating that perhaps he wasn’t dreading the coming night quite as much as he had been earlier that evening.

Still, Kalindra did not give them much more than a thought - she was focused on the rather deliciously naughty nature of where Nelaros had placed his hand, biting her lip to keep her next gasp inside. Figures obscured by the dim light and trusting to the fact that their backs were turned to their well-wishers as they approached Alarith’s shop (a most generous donation, considering he was one of the more well-to-do elves in the alienage), his hand reached over to her, ostensibly to stroke her cheek. Quickly it dipped down to her bodice and explored beneath, a nail raking ever so slightly across one of her nipples.

Once the door was closed behind them, they did not hesitate. The door was first bolted before he pushed her against it, their earlier explorations returning to their minds as if they had never been interrupted. His hand stayed within her bodice as the other reached around to begin unlacing her dress, and her hands pulled his mouth to hers for a deep, hungry kiss. It was a bit... _odd_ , kissing and rubbing against so short a partner, accustomed as she was to her preferred lover, but as she’d noted before, Nelaros possessed a certain skill and finesse that both Shianni and her current paramour lacked. Thoughts of any others were chased out of her head as he tore away from the kiss and bent to her neck, kissing and suckling at the pulse in her throat as she inhaled sharply. Her dress, unusual as it was in its fastenings, finally gave way before his expertise, and he broke away from her neck long enough to lower the dress to her waist and take in the sight of her. By the gleam in his eye, he appreciated the sight quite well, indeed.

From there it became a contest, to see who could garner the most strident, loudest reaction from the other, even as they made their blind way to the room in the back of the shop where the bridesmaids and her female relatives had prepared a little bower for them. Ignoring all else and leaving a trail of finery in their wake, her dark skin quickly became marred with light bite marks - easily hidden in the light of day - and his skin showed a series of bright red marks that came about after she found that slapping him lightly acclimated him _quite_ well to the coming deed. By the time they reached the bed, moving the blankets was unthinkable, and he pushed her onto her hands and knees on top of everything, taking her hard and fast from behind. Given the priming they had given each other before the ceremony, her joy at finally being in a position to start a family and his at receiving such a warm welcome, it seemed natural to them to drive each other to the brink of pleasure and then beyond it. In the final moments, he pulled her up, her back to his chest, to fill her with his seed that first time, his arm wrapped around her torso, giving them a small, still moment in which they could hear each other gasp and feel each other’s beating hearts.

That night, time slipped over them unnoticed as they moved from one joining to another. Their first encounter had been a continuation of their earlier explorations and an establishment of their strength to each other: they would be equals, and passionate, and respectful of each other’s desires and wishes. After that, the focus turned to exploration - as much as could be put into a single evening - and not only of the physical. The wine left for them was opened and consumed as they told each other of their pasts, hopes and dreams...

“So,” she said at one point, somewhere between the second and third bottle of wine, “you’re fine with... that?” An oblique way of referring to the rather unorthodox training her mother had instilled in her. Someday she would tell him about Slim Couldry, and his crew, and her partner in crime and, formerly, passion... but not tonight. Yet she was a rogue through and through, and couldn’t conceive of not telling him _that_ at least.

His fingers paused in their journey of chasing the reddish tints in her long dark hair, then continued. “I’ll admit it wasn’t quite what I envisioned from Valendrian’s description of you, but then, he didn’t do your beauty justice, either.”

She glanced up and caught the grin on his face, returning one of her own as she lightly slapped his hip with the hand that lay upon it. “Flatterer,” she teased, though she couldn’t exactly hate a man who said something like that - especially not when she was already so willing to find love with him. Still, his comment brought up another point. “He didn’t even mention the scars, did he?”

Face growing serious, he reached down to her still-upturned cheek and traced the outline of the fox etched into the flesh there. “I would very much like to know how this came to be, my wife,” he said softly. Setting his glass on the floor next to the bed and retrieving hers to do likewise, he adjusted their position until he could look her in the eyes. “I want to know more about you. Who placed it there?”

“I did,” she said, in a burst, as if saying it faster would make it easier to explain _why_. “My mother was killed by some shem, and I saw them, and I remembered their faces... and later, when I had the opportunity, I found them.” Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes as his delicate touch explored the lines, five of them, the words falling freely from her lips. “I cut a line for each of them, one for each death.”

His hand stilled for a moment, and she felt him shift. For a moment she was worried that Aunt Delia had been right, that her past - especially the parts she’d never breathed to anyone outside of Couldry’s crew - should have been a subject never to be brought up between husband and wife. When she felt a gentle pressure on her head, she quickly glanced up, and felt soft lips fall on hers as he kissed her.

“Not all shems are bad - the Couslands are a fairly decent sort, after all - but I don’t think you can live in an Alienage in Ferelden and not encounter the _other_ kind of shem.” He spoke with a quiet tone, but she heard the familiar underlying cocktail of emotion she heard in most elves of her acquaintance: fear, loathing, and despair, all centered around the shems and their imposition of a particular brand of _order_ on the elves, an order that crushed and ground and never relented. “You killed them all, then?”

She nodded, embracing him firmly as relief flashed through her. “Like dogs.”

“Good.” His hand stroked slowly, up and down her back. “Good.”

After that, the talk wandered, intermingled with more wine and more intimacy that, over time, came to resemble love-making in the truest sense of the word. It wasn’t a perfect storybook union, of course - she still didn’t talk about her now _former_ lover, or about the exact nature of how she had earned money in the past few years, but for the most part, she treasured the conversation as much as, if not more than, she treasured the more intimate moments. By the time the sun peeked through the small glazed window in the bedroom, they were in each other’s arms, each content in what they had found in the other and certain that the years would only deepen the discovery and mystery both. In a culture where, more often than not, one was married for convenience and at others’ whims, it was a remarkable thing to find that the one chosen for you by another would probably have been the one you chose for yourself.

By the time that Cyrion and Alarith came to rouse them for the celebratory wedding breakfast, they were content with not only their first step in their lives together, but eager to continue walking down that path, side by side.


	2. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Author's Note:* 
> 
> This chapter depicts violent sexual acts. For a brief summary of the chapter, please skip to the End Notes. The graphic content is near the end, so you can read up to a point and then skip to the summary as you wish.
> 
> Also, many thanks to my fantastic beta readers, Mille Libri and HereThereBeDragons!

Tell me about the man I will marry, Mommy, _I demand as I sit under her clever fingers and try not to fidget. The sun comes through the window with all the promise of spring and new life, and I am eager to go with her to the fields outside Denerim where she will continue to teach me the ways of her People, the ways of those who roam the forests._ Will he be handsome and smart like Daddy? Or brave and strong like Uncle Michal?

 _She chuckles as she braids my hair into the intricate pattern of her People, though her own hair is hidden by the cloth she wears to cover the pretty lines on her face._ I cannot tell you that, little fox, because I do not yet know who you will wed.

 _I frown as I look at her in the mirror. How could such an important matter be such a mystery?_ When  _I'm_  a mommy,  _I'll_  make sure that I can tell my daughter about her husband, _I declare._

Oh, you will, will you? _she asks with a gentle smile on her face._

It's important!  _I insist, crossing my arms in front of my chest to show her_ how _important._

 _She leans forward so that I can see both of our faces in the mirror._ I can tell you one thing about him.  _When I nod eagerly, she kisses my cheek and smiles at me._ He will love you without reservation.

_Satisfied, I turn and hug her. It is going to be another beautiful day._

 

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

 

Soris approached Kalindra the moment Valendrian took Nelaros aside to introduce him formally as 'Nelaros Tabris' to the other leaders of the Alienage community. Swooping in quickly to hook his arm around her elbow, he moved her off to the side and put his hands on her arms. Surprised, she acquiesced to his abrupt monopolization of her even as she noted the harried look in his face. "Soris? What's wrong?"

"I-" He ducked his chin and lowered his head, pausing to take a deep breath. "I found a note in my bedroom this morning, after Valora and I came back with Mother. It was from Taeodor." His face rose again, and she saw the pain that he so rarely let others see. "He's gone. He said it was to go after his brothers-"

"The ones who went to the Dalish a few weeks ago?" she clarified as her mind quickly worked through the facts before her.

He nodded, expression miserable. "You know they weren't close. Even their father had given up on them. I think he- I think-"

Quickly she wrapped her arms around Soris, pulling him into a hug. "I know," she said quietly. "But... you  _are_  married, now. Did you think things wouldn't change?"

He stiffened and pulled out of her embrace. "No, I just... I thought he... I didn't think he'd leave Denerim!" He managed to keep his voice down to avoid notice, but it was clear he walked a breath's edge away from losing his composure completely, and she saw the heads turning their way. Quickly she hooked her arm through his and led him away, smiling reassuringly at the curious onlookers as she guided Soris into the alleyway behind Alarith's shop.

"You argued, didn't you? Yesterday, I mean." Her voice was soft, and his wince answered it quickly. Putting her hands on his arms, mirroring his earlier stance with her, she said quietly, "We're married now. I know you didn't want to give him up, but you know what I'm giving up, too."

Soris glared at her. "That shem? He's  _exercise_  for you, Kalindra, just like Shianni was. Taeodor-"

The slap echoed in the sudden silence of the alleyway. Soris didn't even put his hand to his face, letting the redness on his cheek speak for itself as he glared at her, meeting her fury ounce for ounce. They were bare inches away from each other, breathing heavily, and Kalindra had to force herself to close her eyes and turn her head, biting her tongue to prevent herself from saying something she  _knew_  she would regret later.

After a few long, silent moments, his arms wrapped around her and pulled her close, gently guiding her head to rest in the crook of his neck. His hand stroked her hair as he began to speak quietly. "Whatever that  _shem_  is to you - and I simply  _don't_ understand that, I'm sorry, but I don't - I know that Shianni meant far more than just... just curiosity." He squeezed her lightly. "I'm just... scared."

Her arms wrapped around him in return. "I know how you feel about him, Soris. I'd be scared, too." Heaving a deep sigh, she extricated herself from his embrace and reached up to cup his face with her hand. "But you can't let that interfere with the new life you have here. Whether Taeodor comes back or not, you have a wife, and she needs you to be a husband - even if she wasn't your first choice. She's here, she took your name - just as Nelaros took mine - to be part of this community, and that means as wife and mother of your child." Her hand moved to his shoulder as she looked into his eyes. "And you need to be her husband and father of your child. If Taeodor returns... you can deal with it then. But you have to concentrate on the  _now._ "

Soris closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded. "Thanks. I guess... I needed to hear that. Valora's not  _bad_ , I mean, last night-" He blushed lightly and cleared his throat as she chuckled. "Let's just say I feel much better about her than I did last night and leave it at that."

She tapped his nose. "Good. Keep it that way. Now let's get back, we're already late to our own Wedding Breakfast."

As they emerged from the alley, however, Soris stiffened. "That's not  _your_  shem, is it?"

Startled, Kalindra turned to look in the direction Soris was staring, and saw a shem with dark hair and beard standing at the outskirts of the bustle. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the condition of his arms and armor, arriving at an uncomfortable conclusion.  _That armor is tailored, and the weapons are good quality and worn on the handles... That man is no loiterer or merchant._  "No, it isn't." Without thinking, she turned and briskly walked towards the stranger, not wanting another incident like yesterday to happen again. Her hand unconsciously reached for the dagger that wasn't in her fine clothes, and she planted herself before the imposing figure, looking up at him with a stern look on her face.

Before she could speak, he bowed slightly to her. "Good day. I understand congratulations are in order for your wedding." A quick gesture took in the activity around them. "This is, I believe, your Wedding Feast? I am sorry that I missed the ceremony."

Even as he spoke, she had been evaluating him: his stance, his callouses, his intonation.  _Not a brute._  Her eyes saw the dagger where on a knight a shield would rest, and she also noted the tiny healed scar of a hole in his right ear, a healed-over match to the hole just below it that currently held a small golden hoop.  _So... you were a thief in Orlais. Who are you?_  "Do you have business here?"

"Is it so strange to wish to attend the wedding of the child when I was present at the wedding of the parents?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "You look as lovely as your mother did. I see it is the same dress with some modifications. I'm sure she would have been proud to see you wear it. Her death was a tragic loss for us all."

The response was so completely unexpected that she felt the belligerence drain right out of her. The calculating part of her mind tried to make a leap from her mother to this man, and her eyes again looked at the telltale second scar on his ear.  _A thief..._  "I... I would like to think she would be." Soris arrived then, left behind by her rather determined pace, but she kept her attention on the stranger.

"Valendrian told me that the wedding itself was to be held today. Had I known about the change in plans, I would have been here for the ceremony as well. You have my apologies."

Now thoroughly bewildered, she looked to Soris, uncertain as to how to proceed. "Forgive me, but you knew my mother... professionally?" It was the closest she could hint about her mother's occupation in such a public place.

"One could say so, yes, but not in the manner you might think. I had, in fact, hoped to recruit her into our ranks."

Soris interjected, "Who's we?" even as Kalindra gasped.

"You're a Grey Warden."

"That I am," the man acknowledged. "I'll admit, I am surprised she told you."

She bit her lip. Her mother hadn't told her - Slim Couldry had, after her mother's death, trying to remind her that not all shem were bad, despite all evidence to the contrary. She was saved from having to answer by Valendrian's arrival. As the Elder and the Warden exchanged pleasantries, her mind quickly shuffled through all her conversations with Slim Couldry about the Wardens, remembering his odd comment from just the previous week.  _"A lot of activity at their chapterhouse recently. Makes you wonder what's going on. I mean, the Wardens, they really only have one thing to worry about, right?"_  A name emerged from that conversation, a name of their Commander...

"Duncan," she said quietly, and immediately had their attention.

Valendrian's reaction was... odd. Glaring at Duncan, he said, "I thought you said you wouldn't approach her."

 _Why would it matter?_  she wondered as Duncan regarded her with keen eyes. "He didn't, Elder. I... I heard the smith speaking of the Warden Commander in the market, that's all, and they made mention of his unique armor."

She wasn't sure Valendrian believed her, but again she was saved from an awkward moment - this time with the Elder of the community - when the whirlwind known as Aunt Delia appeared behind them.

"There you are! Soris, Kalindra, you need to get to the head table! We're long past ready!"

Not accepting any answer but immediate movement, Kalindra was pulled along behind her aunt, and her last view of Duncan was his eyes staring at her intently as she was dragged back into the festivities.

And what festivities they were! Delia and the bridesmaids  _had_  to have stayed up all night to finish the preparations: the long tables, used only for special events, were pulled from storage and garlanded with what little finery the Alienage could muster, though the delicate scent of flowers filled the air from the blossoms spread through the event area. She wished she could take more time to notice more details - it was custom, after all, for each family to donate something to the feast, both in food and in memory of their own wedding, and she wanted to see all their contributions - but Delia was right: they were already late.

With little grace, she and Soris were gently bullied into place next to their respective spouses, and Delia, beaming down at the happy newlyweds, took up her fork and tapped the small wedding bell at the head table, signalling that it was time for the party to begin.

Eating, of course, was allowed for everyone  _but_ the newlyweds at a wedding feast. No sooner than she or Nelaros would pick up a fork than a guest would come up to give them personal well-wishes, and sometimes an introduction if they still hadn't met Nelaros yet. The Alienage was a large family - not perfect, of course, and the spats and arguments could sometimes push the seams to bursting - but a wedding was as much a marriage of an individual to a community as it was between a man and a woman. Nelaros and Valora were the elves of the morning as each and every member of their new extended family came to greet them. Often Kalindra would handle the introduction and then sit and smile, listening to the chat between her husband (and that word still made her shiver, her  _husband_ ) and the guest with a smile on her face, glad that, for the most part, her little community had decided to welcome he and Valora in with open arms. There were exceptions, but no full purse was without its false coins, as any good thief knew.

Still, when Shianni finally approached them, she sprang away from her seat and barely-touched breakfast happily, hugging her cousin close. "It's so beautiful," she whispered into her cousin's ear, having seen enough now to recognize Shianni's deft touch for decoration. "Thank you so much." She pulled back and saw the dark circles under her eyes. "You stayed up all night, didn't you?"

Shianni's smile faltered, then came back, fading in and out so quickly that Kalindra almost wondered if she'd imagined it. "Well, Delia's the better cook, so I thought it-" She stopped, her gaze looking past Kalindra. "Oh,  _Maker_ , not  _him._ "

Puzzled, Kalindra turned to learn what had bothered Shianni so, and saw a tall, red-haired shem pushing his way through the quickly quieting crowd. As the guards that accompanied him came into her sight, she understood why everyone was quickly sobering.  _Vaughan_. Even worse, however, were the stricken looks in the faces around her, the community that the breakfast and celebration had created disintegrating even as she watched. The elves that depended on the shems exclusively for their livelihood and could make an escape did so, slipping to the sides of the gathering place and disappearing into the warren of the Alienage with little sound or fanfare. This left the bridal party and the few brave enough to remain relatively alone as they met the Bann who drew to a halt in front of the head table.

Kalindra's arms had tightened reflexively around Shianni, the instinct to protect rising sharp and hard, along with a distinct regret that she didn't have her weapons. Her eyes automatically swept the guards, calculating their number and their weapons, and her lips moved in a silent curse.  _Bastard._

"A party? In Denerim? And I wasn't invited?" The man's resonant voice filled the square, and several of the elves still remaining flinched. He sneered at the reaction, a look of satisfaction on his face. He stalked forward, eyes moving along each member of the bridal party, and Kalindra felt Nelaros' hand land on the small of her back as the shem's eyes fell on her and narrowed in recognition.  _He remembers the stone, I see._

As he approached her, she turned to him, putting herself between him and Shianni even as she put a restraining hand on Nelaros to keep him back. Her gaze did not fall away from Vaughan's as he came to a halt in front of her.  _Just try to make me flinch._  "This is a private party, milord," she said in a steady voice.

A chuckle ran through the guards at this futile refusal, but Vaughan didn't join in the mirth as his eyes moved to the etching on her face. Still she did not look away, though her heart hammered in her chest. She knew his type, had seen shems such as he at the Gnawed Noble Tavern and other, less savory establishments, and she knew what he wanted from her.  _And you will_ never _get it._

"And see the lovely bride," he murmured in a low voice. There was anger in his green eyes, and his tone held a measure of distant lust and low burning anger. "Such a well-formed little thing." His eyes slid from her mark back to her eyes, and he smiled a slow, cruel smile that she'd only seen once before, a memory dark enough that it had been locked away. She couldn't help but shiver and settle back on her heels, which made his smile deepen.

Shianni clutched Kalindra's arm spasmodically, and the motion caught the Bann's attention. "Ah. The bitch who bottled me." His head tilted, looking down at them from his position of height and authority, and she could see him revel in that dominance. Reluctant to turn her attention from the shem before her, she heard the guards and Vaughan's toadies surround the bridal party and move in. She tried to hold on to Shianni when they pulled her away, but of course her strength was no match, pound for pound, against a male shem. When she finally looked around, she became aware that her cousin was not the only target as the other women in the bridal party – including Valora – were taken into custody as well.

Never one to go quietly, even when she had a hangover, Shianni struggled against her captor. "Let me go, you stuffed shirt son of a-" A solid smack from a guard silenced her, rocking her back against the man holding her arms, and she wavered and shook her head as she was pushed by the shem to join the rest of the women in the midst of the guards.

"Now," Vaughan purred, looking at Kalindra - the only unrestrained woman left in the area, "I'm sure we all want to avoid any further... unpleasantness." His eyes shot to Nelaros, then back to Kalindra, the threat clear in his eyes. She didn't need to hear the sound of a blade drawn from its sheath behind her to know the  _consequence_  should she object to being carted out of the Alienage like some whore. "Why don't we move the party to my estates? They're much more lavish, and there's far more privacy. Of course, the invitation is for women only." Casually he reached up and plucked the wedding wreath from atop her head, throwing it to the ground with disdain. "Nothing wrong with having a bit of fun, is there?"

Her hands ached for her blades, but she was also all too aware of the sword that waited behind her, presumably to take Nelaros' life. Her eyes quickly moved over the people left in the square, and saw that all those that weren't restrained had either gone or simply watched, wringing their hands helplessly. She glared up at him, frustrated, as her hands clenched into fists. "You  _bastard."_  She didn't know what hurt worse: giving in to his demands, however unwillingly, or knowing that  _he knew_  she had done so.

He chuckled at the capitulation he'd wrung from her and brought up his hand to cup her face, running a thumb over the mark on her cheek. "So young and vulnerable... Oh, we're going to have some  _fun._ " Then his face contorted as he drew that hand back and struck her expertly across the face.

She had read his face well enough to know it was coming and managed to move in such a way to avoid most of the blow while seeming to take the full force - a valuable talent for one of her profession - and allowed herself to fall to her hands and knees on the platform, pretending to a worse condition than was true. Her head reeled a bit, and she felt blood run down her cheek from where his ring had sliced through her skin, but the damage was nowhere near what it would have had she not bent before the blow. Even so, it was difficult not to react as Nelaros was also struck and shoved off the platform.

She  _was_  vulnerable... but, Dirthamen willing, she would not remain so...  _A rogue just needs her wits, skill, and a little luck..._

The words rang through her head as two guards pulled her to her feet and started driving her after the others, Vaughan again at the head of the small mob and grinning like a cat with a bird in its mouth.

_Not all birds are helpless, bastard. And not all of us display our plumage for all to see._

The thought was small comfort, though, given what likely lay in wait for her at the Arl's estates.

.~^~.

They were driven out of the alienage like so much cattle, their captors prodding them mercilessly towards the nicer parts of Denerim. Kalindra stumbled along after the guards, pain lancing through the cut on her cheek with the percussion of every step. Soris' mouse, unfortunately, acted like one, simply doing what she was told without objection, much like the other elves that had been dragged into this living nightmare.  _Nola. Terimi. Valora._  Kalindra fixed the names in her mind, forcing the anger within to awaken and clear away the detritus of a mind clouded by pain. Yet though the other women were  _important,_  there was really only one that made her very air flee at the thought of  _harm_ , and her eyes quickly sought out fiery red hair.

Shianni stumbled along with the men, pushed and pulled roughly by the shems in such a way that her clothing ended up askew and torn. Every time she tried to pull the cloth back to its proper place, one of the guards - a nasty looking shem with a broken nose and one missing front tooth - slapped her and pulled it even more out of place, until Shianni was reduced to crossing her arms over her chest in a desperate attempt to cling to her dignity.

Kalindra avoided a similar treatment only because her dress was made of sterner stuff. She acquired her own set of bruises and slaps as they progressed through the streets, but she barely noticed them over the thrum of her roaring blood.  _Shianni, I swear I will make them pay._  The fierceness that had awoken in her in the long nights in Denerim while working with Slim Couldry and his crew helped her remain, if not calm, then out of the reach of panic, her mind quickly latching onto  _payback_  before it could dwell on that for which the payback would be meted out. A very quiet part of her noticed that not all the guards joined in the theme of brutality - in fact, one of them dragged the nasty one aside after Shianni was smacked so hard one of her braids flew out of place. Yet, they continued to drive the women to the Arl's Estate.  _Why even pretend that there are lines you don't prefer to cross?_  she thought bitterly even as a hand planted itself into her back and pushed her forward.  _Or maybe he just prefers his meat to be tenderized in private._

As they moved through the streets of the city, she could not help but overhear some of the comments from the denizens of Denerim. The anger within spread throughout her body, setting her afire, as she picked out some of the comments of the shems they passed.  _We are not whores! We don't_ deserve _this any more than you do!_  she wanted to scream - but no one cared. They were only elves, after all, and little better than animals in the eyes of the average shem. In some cases, she knew, they were worth even  _less._  A surge of anger made her wrench her arms forward, but they were quickly restrained by two guards before she could do anything more than take a step closer to Shianni. She stopped struggling as they caught her up again, deciding to wait for a more opportune moment.  _I can endure long enough._

She had to.

The opportunity to fight back  _effectively_  came after they entered the estate, grouped in the back of the kitchen to await their fate. The Arl's son and his cronies had split off to go through the front door, leaving the women 'alone' with their guards. After quickly taking stock of their surroundings, she watched the guards relax and lose that edge of wariness they'd had in the streets. She tensed up, her vector of attack already chosen, and awaited the proper moment, that one moment of distraction she so desperately needed.

Then one of the guards reached out and pulled Shianni's arms away from her chest, exposing her to the eyes of the  _monsters..._ but it also served to pull the eyes of every single shem in the room to her cousin, and away from anyone else.

She reached out and grabbed a boning knife left carelessly on a nearby table, one sized for an elf servant and therefore comfortable in her grip. Pulling the emptiness of her rage around her, she drew the blade across the neck of one of her unsuspecting guards and turned to the next without skipping a beat and drove it into a convenient gap in the guard's armor, the slightly hooked and pointed blade finding his kidney as she watched him squeal like a pig. She managed to slice the throat of yet a third before the guards truly responded, their oaths mere whispers amidst the sound of blades leaving sheaths.

Her mind was lost in its zone of carefully controlled rage, using her fleetness of foot more than her skill with a blade to avoid their onslaught, allowing them to trip over each other in their zealousness to strike down the bitch that dared fight back. She knew that she would lose, knew that her death had been certain the moment her hand had touched that knife, but as she taunted the shems and dodged between their cumbersome armored bodies towards the far door, luring them away from the other women, she hoped that they would at least vent their anger on her and not Shianni.

She hurt at least three more guards - and was bleeding from more than one injury herself - before they managed to drive her to the ground, a heavily booted foot slamming down onto her wrist to force her to let go of the knife. That pain joined the growing symphony, and her mind had trouble differentiating the dull throbbing of her wrist from the pulse of the sword cut that ran diagonally across her back. A blade against her throat prevented her from struggling too much as an argument broke out about whether to kill her or 'have fun with the bitch' first.

Before the argument was resolved, the door opened, allowing Vaughan and his sycophants into the room. The lascivious grin on his face died as he saw the bodies on the ground, some unmoving. "What happened here?" he demanded as he stormed towards them.

 _Maybe he'll be too angry to have his little 'party'_ , a tiny voice whispered inside. She dismissed the faint hope as she watched him plant his hands on his hips and examine the scene, saw the cruel curve at the corners of his mouth. _He_ revels _in the pain._ She shivered as his eyes met hers for a bare instant, the  _lust_  in them sending a cold shock of terror through her system.  _Oh, why didn't they just kill me quickly?_

The guard arguing for her death stood and pointed at Kalindra, but before he could speak, the Arl's son said intently, "Pull her up." The shem crushing her against the floor dragged her to her feet roughly, careless of her injuries. Vaughan stepped close enough for her to feel his breath on her forehead, and he roughly grabbed her chin and wrenched her eyes up to meet his. "Not the bitch who bottled me, then," the man mused. "Spirited little thing, isn't she?" A gleam shone in those grey eyes as a hand gripped one of Kalindra's breasts, tightening until she gasped in pain. "Lovely in the clothes, but, I would imagine, more  _useful_  without." His fingers shifted to pinch her nipple, and she cried out as a new sharp pain lanced through her, trying to writhe away from him. "You know, I was going to enjoy the red-headed one first, but I think you've earned some  _attention_  of your own."

His face contorted into a loathsome grin as he twisted her breast, leaving her whimpering. His eyes fell on one of the bodies still on the ground, and he threw back his head and laughed. A sudden panic seized her, adrenaline galvanizing her to action and allowing her to catch the guard unawares as she slipped out of his grip and blindly ran, away from  _them,_  away from the nightmare _._

She managed only a few steps before a strong hand caught her upper arm and swung her around, slamming her back onto a nearby table and causing her wounds to shriek in protest at such treatment. She stared at Vaughan as he pressed down against her and settled a hand over her neck, tightening just enough to cause pain and make her struggle to breathe. His smile could only be called predatory as he leaned down to murmur into her ear, "I don't even have to worry about whether or not you're alive afterwards. Killing a guard is an automatic death sentence for a knife-ear." She jerked underneath him, earning only a chuckle and pain as teeth bit into the sensitive flesh of her ear. A whimper escaped from her, and she felt the unmistakable prodding of something hardening against her thigh. "We are going to  _enjoy_  you, little whore."

And then she was taken away.

.~^~.

They threw her into a small room furnished only with a bed made of matted straw, where she immediately curled into a ball of terror. Coldness crept into her limbs as the last vestiges of adrenaline drained away, leaving her hollow and shivering.  _Better that I had died with Mother,_  she thought as she tried to make herself as small as possible on the bed. Dizzy from pain and despair, she let her head collapse onto the rough surface, wishing she could will herself into darkness, if not death. Her mind struggled to calm itself, but kept returning again and again to some of the things she had witnessed in her time with Couldry's crew, especially the bodies found in the  _dead space_  under the docks, where the vicissitudes of the tides always gathered the bodies dumped clandestinely into the river or the ocean around Denerim. Slim demanded that they always check the dead space, to look for friends that hadn't returned, or rivals that had taken one risk too many: it was simply something that a crew of thieves  _did_  in such a large city as Denerim.

Her mind remembered how, almost every month, mixed in with all the other bodies, there was sure to be at least one woman - usually an elf, always bruised and battered - that Slim knew had last been seen going into the Arl's estate. These were the silent deaths, the ignored deaths, the ones the authorities refused to look into because 'likely the knife-eared whore deserved it'. All they could do for the poor girls was give them a proper burial and their family closure - if family could be located at all.

Lost in her inner nightmare of watching Slim pull her body from the dead space, at first she didn't notice the hand that kept patting her on the shoulder, but its persistence finally cut through her daze. When she finally looked up, it was to find the face of a young elf girl with amethyst eyes looking down at her, her lips compressed into a thin line of fear. Her arms were full of cloth, and a small bucket of water was sitting on the floor at her feet next to a small footstool.

Kalindra stared uncomprehendingly at her visitor for a moment before it clicked: the clean water, the towels, the new dress... Vaughan wanted her  _prepared._  Suddenly she was acutely aware of the cuts, the blood, and the dirt that caked her. Her hand reached up to the bruises on her neck, and another chill went through her.  _He wanted to see his handiwork. And he wanted a clean slate for the next round._

When her eyes met the servant's, the girl flinched away, guilt clearly writ on her face.  _She doesn't want to be here any more than I do..._  A grim sense of anger settled over her.  _Typical of a shem to send in one of us to do the dirty work._

And then another wave of despair landed on her: the despair of  _no escape._  She'd known she would be dead the moment her blade had sunk into the first guard, and, deep down, she'd known what would come to her the instant the simple boning knife had been kicked from her grasp. Pity rose in her as she looked at the girl, but the anger drained away.  _Neither of us controls our fate, not truly._  A dim spark of curiosity awoke in her, and she uncurled from the bed to stand quietly, accepting the girl's ministrations without objection.  _Any ally gained is a benefit against the enemy._

First the girl removed her bloodstained and ripped dress, throwing it aside. Kalindra suppressed a wince when it hit the floor, remembering how beautiful the dress had been only hours before... and how happy she had been while wearing it. Next the blood was cleaned from her hair and body, the bucket of water steadily darkening in color as the grooming progressed.

She felt as if she were a meal being prepared for consumption.

After the last bit of blood was gone, the servant silently spread a dull green paste onto the worst of her wounds, particularly the one that ran the length of her back. Feeling the tingle that indicated special healing - which she had only felt once in her life, and then in the Chantry - she finally decided to indulge her curiosity - to distract her from the pain, if for no other reason. "Why?" she murmured, leaving the simple inquiry hanging alone between them.

"I have to," the girl whispered. "My mother... she needs medicine."

Kalindra suddenly understood. Every rich household had an elf whose responsibility was to monitor the household's stock of health tinctures and poultices. It was not a position easily gained, and one of the few that promised an extra perk beyond pay: a clever elf could take the occasional poultice or potion home. "She is all you have?"

The young woman nodded. "She isn't home right now - she travels with the Lady Landra - but when she returns she will need more. She always needs more, after a trip with the Lady and her son. I-I'm truly sorry."

And the last vestiges of even pity drained away, leaving Kalindra feeling dull and hollow. She reached up to touch the five lines on her cheek, noticing with a grimace that the new cut left by Vaughan already marred one of them. "I know what it is to do the unthinkable for one's mother," Kalindra said quietly. "But I do have one request." Her foor reached out and touched the torn, battered wedding dress. "I... do not know what condition I will be in later, but I ask you to take this to my cousin, Shianni."

"The one with red hair and a temper?" the girl asked quietly.

Even amidst all the horror she was going through, that elicited a choked sob of laughter. "That one, yes. I just don't want it to be sullied... further."

The girl nodded soberly. "I will get it to her, I promise."

Kalindra was silent for a few moments as the girl attired her in a simple dress and combed her hair, the absurdity of the grooming washing over her anew. A suspicion began to grow, as she judged the girl's reluctant but practiced movements, and she asked quietly, "I am not the first one." She knew that Slim blamed Vaughan for the deaths of those they found in the dead space, but if the sadistic shem had made this poor girl attend to each one  _before..._

After a moment of hesitation, the girl nodded. "I know there are rumors in the Alienage, of some of the girls who work here going home with bruises or worse, or just disappearing entirely every time the Arl leaves town and Vaughan is left to his own devices. Regina had to go to see Mother Boann for the Fade potion after she was... taken. She told me she'd rather die than bear his spawn." The girl's amethyst eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Mother refuses to talk of it when she is in Denerim, but I see it in the faces of the other women back home when they learn where I work. Lady Landra is... good to my mother, certainly better than most shems. If it weren't for her son and husband..." Her voice trailed off as she tied Kalindra's hair back with a white ribbon. "They say you killed some of the guards," she added in a whisper.

"Like dogs."

"Good."

No more words were exchanged as the girl finished up and gathered the discarded, torn dress and her cleaning supplies. "I am sorry," she whispered one more time. "I wish I had something better to tell you than the truth."

For some reason, those words sparked neither fear nor despair, but  _fury._ "Make sure that my dress reaches my cousin," Kalindra said firmly. "With luck, I will be spared to kill more than mere hounds this day."  _If I can endure the next few hours... all I need is one more bit of luck._

The girl's eyes widened at these words, but she had no time to respond as heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway outside. The girl's transformation was terrifying to watch, as she went from sad to petrified, bolting out of the room as quickly as she could, the snide laughter of the shem and his toadies chasing after her. Once she was gone, though, the door was closed, and Vaughan turned to look at Kalindra.

Her hand unconsciously went to her throat, waking the lingering pain of the bruise that already marked her as his toy. She retreated blindly from his hungry gaze as his eyes lingered on the cut on her cheek, then moved down her body in the most brutally possessive manner she could imagine. The others shifted on their feet, but it was clear that Vaughan would be the first to act.

"Well, then." Crossing the relatively small room in only a few strides, he jerked her towards him, hand already hooking into the neckline of her dress. "Let's get this party started."

The first step was, predictably, the violent removal of her clothes. Terror, as she knew so well, was a weapon, and Vaughan wielded it like a true master and with calculated precision. It was he who waved the others away when she was reduced to her smalls, pushing her up against a wall so that he could watch her face with an almost obscene intimacy as he literally stripped her last bit of dignity from her with one swift pull, then ordered his cronies to hold her there.

She struggled - oh, how she struggled, hoping to get in at least one good punch or well-placed kick somehow - as he used his teeth on her, both on her breasts and below them, openly enjoying her cries of pain. Her struggles only elicited laughter and blows, creating more agony and more shame: shame that she could not escape, shame that she could not fight back. Worse, with every cut and surge of blood, she saw his lust and readiness grow, until what had been a glint became a fire. She started to whimper and writhe to get away from him, even though she knew she could not. And the more she fought, the more they hit her, and the more bruises and cuts appeared on her body, the greater the gleam of lust in the shems' eyes.

When he finally entered her, the pain of the act was but a distant echo of the fire of hurt that lay tracks along her body, from her feet all the way to her face. There was no sensuality, no concept of sex or pleasure or equality: he took her as he pleased, and his pleasure required her agony.

With each successive assailant, she weakened further, though her mind remained cursedly aware. As her struggles grew weaker, they began to laugh about the bitch finally being tamed, using the opportunity to leave more marks on her body and soul. The agony in her breasts and between her thighs grew as time progressed, and eventually even the fire of her rage was extinguished, leaving her lying limp and unresponsive on the bed.

Only then - when all spark of a fight was gone - did they finally relent.

After that, it was if she didn't exist, She lay there, completely still, upon the rough sheets of the bed as they began to dress, clapping each other on the back and discussing the meal that had been ordered from the kitchens, in celebration of  _milord_ 's luck in the Mabari races. As they laughed and joked, her skin slowly chilled, the blood loss and shock combining to sink her into a stupor in which her mind sought to wrap the last few hours into a small bundle and bury them deep, deep within, never to be released.

Just when she thought she had truly been forgotten, Vaughan reached out and gripped her hair painfully so that her dull eyes were forced to meet his. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?" The other men laughed as she tried to pull away, shoulders and stomach heaving. "That's enough for now, I think. You're surprisingly resilient - refreshingly so, considering how long our previous playmates have lasted in these situations. Not even a broken bone." His finger reached up and traced the lines he'd put on her face, then ran down and did the same to her breasts and stomach. She shuddered and tried to escape his loathsome touch, but lacked the strength. "Yes, enough for now. You're a lovely canvas, my dear little whore. Next time, I'll bring more... tools with me." He released her, dismissing her entirely from his world as she collapsed onto the bed. "Time for dinner. Tell that little idiot to take her to the other whores and let them fuss over her for a while. We'll resume in the morning. With better tools."

A spark flared, deep within, enough to galvanize her body into a jerking movement that drew their attention. All their eyes turned to her for a moment, but it was Vaughan's gaze she met as she whispered, all the hatred she felt for him in her voice, "Like dogs." The voice that emerged was unrecognizable to her ears, but the words were an oath stronger than any she had before uttered, including the one fulfilled when she carved a fifth line of blood across her cheek.

Vaughan only laughed. "Excellent, there's still some fight left in you. I'm going to love crushing that last tiny bit of  _you,_  my little whore."

She barely heard his retort, though, as that spark had faded with her words, and she found herself slipping into darkness. Unlike before, when she had wished only for the darkness to  _end_  it all, she now fell into it gladly, recognizing it as a place of rest before she could begin her new quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary:
> 
> Kalindra and Nelaros attend a Wedding Feast the morning following their ceremony to introduce Nelaros to the Alienage community. Duncan attends the Wedding Feast, and Kalindra meets him, recognizing him to have once been a thief like her mother. After a brief conversation with Duncan and Valendrian, the Wedding Feast begins and all of her childhood dreams seem to be coming true. Partway through the Feast, however, Bann Vaughan shows up with his cronies and his guards and takes the women into custody, though Kalindra avoids being knocked unconscious through the use of her skills.
> 
> They are dragged through the streets of Denerim to the Arl's estates, and in a moment of distraction, Kalindra grabs a weapon and attacks the guards, killing some and wounding others. She is disarmed and forced to the ground, and Vaughan decides that he will take her first rather than Shianni. Kalindra is taken to a small, nondescript room where her wounds are treated, her hair and skin are cleaned, and her torn, bloody dress is exchanged for a clean one. She gives her wedding dress to the young elf servant girl who tends to her, begging her to take the dress to Shianni. The girl agrees, then flees as Vaughan arrives with his toadies.
> 
> At this point, Kalindra is sexually assaulted by Vaughan and his cronies, and told to expect more of the same treatment the next morning. She rouses enough from her pain to swear that she will kill them like dogs, and then succumbs to her injuries and sinks into unconsciousness as they laugh at her oath.


	3. Opportunity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta readers, Mille Libri and HereThereBeDragons!

_Her fingers gently wipe the tears from my face as I take a deep breath._ I'm glad you cry for them, little fox. They were young to go to the arms of the Guide.

 _I feel the tears rise again, and fight them down._ And now Shianni is alone.

Not completely, _she assures me._ She's going to live with Soris and his parents, and they will love her and raise her as if she were born in their house.

 _My hands shake as I reach up to straighten my braid, the worry lingering._ Why did the shems do that to her parents?

 _My mother hesitates, then draws me close and hugs me tightly._ Because some of them think it is their right. Not  _all_  of them,  _she cautions yet again,_ but some of them.

 _The sight of their battered bodies flashes through my mind again, though I had but a glimpse of them when they were brought in from the fields and whispers to know what and why._ I won't let them do the same to Shianni. _I look up, feeling the power of my oath envelop me._ I won't!

 _She hugs me tighter still._ Then she will be lucky to have a protector such as you, _she whispers._

_._

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

_._

"Kal!"

_The blow landed with full force across her face, sending her flying back into the crates behind her. She rolled as best as she could and managed to avoid a corner in her spine, but the breath was knocked out of her and the force of the impact sent her weapon flying from her grip. Hands grabbed her collar and yanked her to her feet, and the slow process of choking began as her shirt was tightened around her throat._

" _I don't care who you are or what you want, you little knife-eared whore, but_ no one _pulls a knife on Jesper and lives!"_

 _The air was hazy - no, was_ turning _hazy - and the face above hers loomed larger and larger._

"Please, Kal..."

_Her hands reached up and scrabbled at where his hand held her, struggling against his hold. Her legs and body began to buck wildly, hoping to pull him off balance, but his free hand landed another blow, this time directly in her middle. She subsided, dangling limply above the ground, and gasped for air that would not come._

_Abruptly she was thrown to the ground, pinned down by his far larger bulk. As a hand pawed at her breast, his foul breath fell across her. "Pretty little thing, aren't you? 'Course, it wouldn't matter if you had no teeth and three tits, I'd still spear you for trying to knife me." Another blow, and her head struck the wooden floor beneath her, making her vision swim and her stomach heave. After ripping her shirt away, he grinned and began working the front of his breeks. "At least I'll get_ some _fun out of this."_

"Kal, come back to me."

_The knife blossomed in her assailant's eye with enough force to push him back and off of Kalindra. A familiar presence appeared and knelt next to her, shoving the limp body the rest of the way off and gently lifting her chin to look at her face. "Ouch. Looks like that's gonna leave a mark come morning. You okay?"_

_Kalindra winced. "I think so. Thanks."_

" _Don't mention it. You've saved my hide enough times, it's about time I returned the favor, right? I didn't expect him to react to the bait tactic quite so badly, though. Ah well, he's dead and we got the job done. Come on, Slim will want to know what happened." As he pulled her to her feet, she swayed and fell into him. "Hmm, still a little woozy there? Or are you finally succumbing to my obvious charms?"_

"She's not responding." Subdued panic.

"Use the water, I know she's trying." An attempt to remain calm.

"They'll be here soon, I know it. She's slept all night. What if they want us next? You saw what they did to her!" Fear, pure fear.

"Dammit, just... just keep calm. Kal, wake up!" That voice... so familiar...

 _She giggled. "Maybe. You're not bad, for a shem."_ Creators, _how hard had she hit her head?_

" _And you're not bad yourself, for a knife ear." The tone was what she'd become accustomed to from him in the past few months since Slim had paired them for these midnight runs: light-hearted banter that nobody took seriously, least of all himself. The grip tightening around her waist, however, was anything but light hearted and was quite serious. She looked up into his eyes, the dim light of the warehouse making it hard to read his expression. "Not bad at all, really."_

_She swallowed. "I-"_

_The grip suddenly tightened, and a hand rose to her chest, cruelly seizing and crushing the bare breast. His brown hair turned red, and the warm brown eyes turned green and cold and calculating. "It's morning, my little whore," Vaughan sneered down at her. "Are you ready for some fun?"_

She jerked awake, the pain of the waking world far preferable to the terror of the nightmare. Arms wrapped around her, but she couldn't quite acknowledge who they belonged to, not yet. Agony lived in her, seeming to inhabit every bone and muscle so that even breathing became an exercise in discipline. "Let go!" she gasped, suddenly desperate to be free of restraint.

The arms released obediently, and she fought her way to her feet and ran away from the cluster of bodies until she reached a wall. Planting her hands flat on the worn stones, she dropped her head and slowly took control of her body again, trying to push the events of...  _before_  as far away as she could. She focused on the pain, feeling the faint tingling that indicated the young servant with the amethyst eyes had probably tended to her as before: cleaning and healing, but her unconscious body rather than her waking one. Moving one hand to run up and down the simple cotton dress in which she was again clad, she slowed her panicked panting, forcing herself to  _calm down._ He wasn't here, and for this space of time she needed to regroup, to think.

To plan.

"Kal?"

 _Shianni._  That voice penetrated her haze, and she pushed off the wall to turn and look at her cousin. She noticed the firming of her cousin's jaw muscles as she strove to not react to Kalindra's appearance, but Valora, standing behind her, paled and turned away. "Where's Nola?" It was the first question to pop into her head, and far better than answering any of their questions, though the rough strain of her voice likely raised even more in Shianni's mind.

"They haven't brought her back yet," Shianni said quietly. "Kal..."

She held up a hand. "Don't," she gasped. "I.. I can't." Stumbling away from the wall, she moved across the small room and grasped the door handle, instinctively trying to jerk it open. When it refused to yield, she spun around and planted her back against it, looking at the small window and the ominous false dawn of the sky outside. "My dress - is my dress here?"

Puzzled, Shianni nodded, pointing to where it lay in a heap of torn and bloodstained linen. "Yes, that horrid little girl brought it to us earlier. Why-?"

"Don't judge her, not until you've  _been_  her." Stumbling to the dress, she pawed through the heap of cloth until she found the hem, then began drawing it through her hands, searching for a sliver of hope. "Please." Just when she thought that it might have slipped out, she found what she was looking for: a long, slim piece of metal with a hooked end. Quickly she used the point of the implement itself to push it through the weakened seam, giving a quick prayer of thanks to Dirthamen that her mother had instilled such odd little habits in her. The woman's face ghosted across her mind as the words came back to her:  _A thief is never safe, little fox. Never forget that._

Tears gathered in her eyes as she stood, lockpick in hand.  _A pity_ you  _forgot, Mother._  Kneeling before the door of the cell, she inserted the pick into the lock and closed her eyes, relying on the tremor in the metal and her sensitive ears to lead the way to freedom.

The  _snick_  as the door unlocked echoed softly through the room.

Clutching the lockpick tightly, she put her ear to the crack of the door and listened to the silence beyond. "Not even a guard?" she asked.

Shianni shook her head as Valora and Terimi clustered around her, hope and fear warring in their faces. "No. I guess whores don't warrant a guard."

"Not once they've been tamed," she muttered as she again grabbed the door handle.

"Wait!" Shianni ran to her side, then held something out to her. "You'll need this."

It was the boning knife. "How-?" Switching her pick to her empty hand, she eagerly reached out and took the blade, its hilt fitting comfortably into her palm.

"I grabbed it while they were... occupied," Shianni said, face grim. Quickly she bent over to retrieve the wedding dress before straightening to meet her cousin's gaze. A look of concern and worry flashed over her face, now that Kalindra seemed to have recovered her wherewithal, and one of her hands reached up to rest on the other woman's shoulder. "I'm sorry. If I hadn't-"

Kalindra silenced her by leaning in and kissing her, ignoring the sting as the action irritated a cut on her upper lip. "I'll always protect you, Shianni. Always."

The guilt didn't fade entirely from Shianni's face, but she did smile and return the kiss. "I know."

Wordlessly, Kalindra turned to the door, adrenaline pushing the pain back and causing a faint ringing in her ears. As she eased the handle down and opened the door, she felt her body settle into the same acute awareness she felt when out on a task for Slim Couldry, though she was acutely aware of the absence of her partner in crime. Hand tightening on the knife's handle, she turned and gestured to Shianni, who nodded and moved up to stand close behind her, Terimi and Valora in tow.

 _They saw what was done to me. How could getting caught for trying to escape make it_ worse _?_  she thought bitterly, then shook all emotions away as she began to prowl down the dimly lit corridor.

It was the ideal time to make an escape, though the timing had been fortuitous rather than deliberate. Her experience with divesting rich households of certain items for more deserving dispersal through the populace had acquainted her with the habits of most guards and servants. With few exceptions, those who worked through the night were either just finishing their shift, and thus were less alert, or were just now arriving and not truly in place, merely going through the routine of preparation for a day of work. Neither state of mind was conducive to looking for escapees that shouldn't have been able to exit their room, much less successfully navigate through the Estate with only a few close encounters.

Slim had always claimed that an elf's ears were an advantage to a rogue, and as they progressed from their holding room through the estate to the kitchens and, hopefully, to freedom, it seemed to hold true. Her heightened senses always seemed to hear the approaching guard and the sleepy servant, though there were some close calls with some of the rooms they chose to take refuge in for hiding.

Only Valora's quick thinking prevented their discovery when she covered Terimi's mouth to muffle the scream as Kalindra smoothly slit a sleepy guard's throat after they clustered into his room to avoid a guard patrolling a hallway. She regretted the blood on her dress - mainly for the memories it brought back - but grimly pushed the limp body into the bed and covered him with a blanket once she was sure he was no longer a threat. She heard Terimi's muffled whimpering and saw the question in Shianni's eyes - not a surprise since only Soris knew the true source of her income over the last few years - but turned away silently, holding a finger to her lips.

They waited a few precious minutes for Terimi to calm down, then began again, though they were much closer to their goal than before. As they darted through the last obstacle, the same mess hall where Kalindra had killed the guards the day before, and entered the kitchen proper, they were frozen by a loud voice.

"You there!" Kalindra turned to find a shem advancing on them, face contorted into a frown. "You should be getting ready to-" He halted when he saw the blood on Kalindra's dress, and recoiled when he saw the cuts and bruises on her face. "Who are-?"

A thunk echoed through kitchen, and the shem's eyes rolled up into his head as he fell, face forward, to land none-too-gracefully on the ground. Kalindra looked at the figure with familiar amethyst eyes standing with a large poker in her hand and sighed gratefully. "You!"

The girl nodded. "I- I didn't expect to see-" She reached out a hand and grabbed Kalindra's wrist, tugging her towards the door. "Come on!"

Curious, but trusting the girl if for no other reason than the bond of loving their mothers, she followed her into the small anteroom that led to the outer estate, and gasped when she saw two familiar figures waiting for them.

"Kal!" Nelaros gasped, running to her. He embraced her - a bit awkwardly due to the sword in his hand - only letting go when she hissed in pain. "Oh, Maker, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" He stood at arm's length, looking at her with a frown on his face that quickly grew into a scowl and flat eyes of hatred. "What did that bastard do to you?"

"We don't have time for that," Shianni said, glancing behind them. "We need to go!"

Nelaros shook himself. "Yes, you're right. Let's go." He tugged at Kalindra's hand, stopping only when she remained still. "Kal?"

Kalindra stared at the young girl with a poker in her hand, then looked at Shianni. "You're safe," she said softly.

Her cousin looked at her with a puzzled expression before her eyes widened. "You're not coming with us." Not a question, but a statement of fact.

"What?" Soris demanded, stepping forward. "Kal, we have to go.  _Please."_

Nelaros took her hand in his, squeezing tightly. "Let's go home."

"And let him do this again?" she asked quietly. "I've looked into his eyes, I've seen what drives him. He won't stop - and he won't leave me alone." This she knew, to the very center of her being. There was more left unspoken: the guards she'd killed, earning her a death sentence; the fact that even if they did escape, with no distraction they would all would be captured again; and the fact that she had unfinished business. She'd killed before for personal affronts... She would kill again.

Shianni shook her head and grabbed her other hand. "Kalindra,  _please_..."

"You're not safe yet," she said in a low voice. "I can at least get that much done." She met Shianni's eyes with her own, holding nothing back: neither her intent or her own expectations.

Her cousin's eyes filled with tears even as she firmed her lip with determination. Heedless of Nelaros' attempt to keep a hold of his wife, she wrapped her arms around Kalindra and hugged her fiercely, then kissed her ear. "Goodbye," she whispered.

Her throat tightened. Shianni knew her well. Unable to speak, she rubbed her cheek against her cousin's face before pulling away, clearing her throat a few times so that she could speak when she held out her hand to Nelaros, palm up. "Please, give me the sword." She recognized the blade, having last seen it on the back of the Grey Warden Duncan, and wondered at the significance of its presence, but for now all she wanted was to take it and go back, before it was too late. The feeling of time running out hissed through her veins, and she wanted to be on her way before it was too late for the rest of them.

Nelaros looked around at the group, then back at her. His hand tightened around the hilt as he looked once more at the cuts and bruises that obscured her features, and he shook his head. "I'm coming with you."

 _I wish you wouldn't._  She'd planned to  _live_  with him, not... Shaking her head, she said, "I'd rather you went with them."

"I'm your husband," he insisted. "I can't- I want to get a blade in him, too."

 _There's no time._  She heard, in the distance, the stamping of feet, and knew that their disappearance had been discovered. As well, she knew, deep down, that she couldn't deny him his rights for revenge any more than she had denied herself after her mother had died. She looked past him to Soris, whose arm was still wrapped around Valora. "Take them home. I love you."

Then she turned and ran back into the kitchen, reaching the door just as the first unprepared guard reached it. Her boning knife, raised and ready, sliced through his throat, and she took the blade from his hand as he fell, using his body to block the doorway long enough to settle it into her hand properly. Nelaros reached her side in time to rush them, and after a flurry of blows, the guards failed to overcome their shock at knife ears  _fighting back_  before they died.

Kalindra looked at Nelaros, for the first time since meeting him wishing he were someone else. "Grab one of his shields. Even if you don't know how to use it well, it can still protect you."

"What about you?" he asked, voice shaking slightly as he obeyed her direction, though he was visibly pale at the sight of all the blood.

She dropped the clumsy longsword she'd taken and dug through their equipment until she found two daggers that matched relatively well - or at least, had similar weight. The boning knife, however, still had a special place in her heart, and so a belt was also taken from a guard and secured around her waist so that she could put that into the sheath. Quickly bringing her new daggers up in a long-familiar stance, she gave some experimental swings, adjusting her grip on the hilts until she was satisfied. "I won't need one as long as my feet are clear." It was bravado, of course - with an inexperienced partner, she knew there was no way she would advance through the estates unscathed.  _I just have to last long enough..._  "Let's go."

.~^~.

It was brutal. Though the guards weren't limitless in number, they were competent, and each guard left dead meant the next one was that much more alert and grim. She managed to use her speed and lack of encumbrance to avoid serious injury for longer than she'd expected, but still less than she hoped, and they had to backtrack a few times due to her unfamiliarity with this particular estate.  _Pity it isn't Eamon's estate,_  she thought vaguely.  _I've been there plenty of times on Slim's business._ Still, there were enough similarities that she knew more or less where their goal lay.

Time and events began to blur. There was little finesse left in her attacks now; she'd already had to exchange one of her blades with another when her first had shattered against a hastily raised shield. Nelaros tried his best, but he was no warrior or rogue, and it showed. By the time they reached the family wing, they were both liberally adorned with blood - both the guards' crimson and their own. The last hallway in particular had been difficult, and as she slammed the huge entrance door of the wing behind her and threw the bar shut, she knew that their next fight would likely be her last.

They staggered through the final hallway, and she held her hand up for a halt, pressing a shaking finger to her lip. They stood and gasped for air silently for a minute or two, their lungs changing from desperate to merely hungry. Since she was more accustomed to this kind of activity, she regained her breath more quickly and motioned him to stay in place as she went from door to door, holding her ear against each doorknob to listen to the other side.

From the door on the right, she heard a familiar laugh, and her blood froze, then boiled.  _This room._

She turned and nodded her head at Nelaros, who closed his eyes and took a deep breath before nodding in return and approaching as silently as he could. She adjusted her daggers one last time, then nodded for him to open the door, so he could rush into the room with his shield in front.

Adrenaline and anger fueled his opening of the door, and it crashed against the wall as he charged into the room. Nelaros swung his sword furiously, cutting down the unsuspecting shems sitting around the table, their cards flying as their lives were taken from their bodies. It wasn't until she had run her dagger over the throat of the one on the far side of the table that she realized that Vaughan wasn't among those seated at the table, and her eyes darted wildly to the side - in time to see a sword point emerge from the front of Nelaros' shirt.

Unprepared for an attack from behind, he gasped and dropped his sword and shield, falling to his knees as the man behind him twisted the blade with a sadistic grin on his face. When Nelaros was gasping on his hands and knees, Vaughan planted his foot on the elf's back and kicked him off of the blade, leaving him flat on the floor. Glancing up to where Kalindra stood, pale and shaking from rage and shock, he tilted his head and sneered. "I'm so sorry to interrupt your little revenge party, but I have to say I don't particularly like the finale you have planned." Glancing down at Nelaros, who was shakily trying to wrap his hand around his sword hilt, the Bann laughed and lashed out with his foot again, landing a punishing blow in the man's side. As Nelaros curled into a ball, Vaughan brought his sword up and around, blade dripping. "Now that I have your attention, perhaps we can discuss this."

She fought the urge to blink and shake her head, knowing either gesture would cost her precious visibility, but she did frown as she readied her own blades against his possible moves as she slowly emerged from behind the table where his 'friends' lay, dead or dying, and completely ignored for the moment. "What is there to discuss?" She couldn't quite comprehend his meaning. "As you've already pointed out, I've earned death through my actions already."

"And many times more by now, judging from the state of your clothes." His eyes lingered on her dress where it clung to her form, saturated in some places by blood and gore, and goose pimples rose as she realized that it was  _exciting_  to him. "And from the condition of your skin. Such  _lovely_  blemishes."

The bastard was  _reveling_  in her injuries, both the ones he'd given her  _and_  the ones she'd earned on her way back in. She could hear Slim's voice, though, giving her a warning:  _Your foe's best distraction will always be himself._  Forcing her breathing to remain steady and struggling to keep disgust from her expression, she grated, even as she moved to the side some more, "Give me a reason not to take your head."

He seemed genuinely surprised at the question. "Why, the Alienage, of course."

A cold wave washed over her, and for the first time since coming back, she faltered in her purpose.

"If you surrender to me, I'll make sure that Father and the King won't take any action against the Alienage. No sanctions, no further restrictions on work, no additional curfews - life there will continue uninterrupted. We'll send a few guards in to scare them, of course, but I'll have you," and here he paused and leered, "or your body, depending on how the next few minutes work, to show them as the main instigator of the massacre. However, imagine their reaction if they come in, find all these dead bodies, and only a dead elf to show for it."

"I'm not-"

His smile turned vicious. "I wasn't referring to you." His sword drew back and slashed down, catching Nelaros, who had finally uncurled from his position of pain and was again reaching for his sword, in the neck, sinking in and lodging there. Yet the shem had swung a bit too firmly, failing to immediately free it after his rather melodramatic show of force and thus momentarily distracting himself with the effort.

The sound of Nelaros struggling for a last breath that would never come was the final blow. As she listened to the gross bubbling that emerged from the hole in his throat, she pushed forward, leaping across the intervening space so quickly Vaughan wasn't prepared for her reaction. He managed to drop the knife he'd hidden in his sleeve into his hand, but its positioning meant only that it sank into her abdomen, whereas  _her_  daggers struck at far more deadly places: one sliding between his third and fourth ribs and meeting little resistance as it sought his heart, and the other twisting to lay an edge against his neck, using her momentum as much as her strength to dig in the blade and pull it out to the side, severing the trachea as well as his carotid. She ignored the resultant warm cloud of liquid that landed on her face and neck, determined to be there the second he died, because she would be  _damned_  before she'd let him live after what he'd done.

Adrenaline kept her standing despite the pain, looking into his eyes as his blood poured down his neck and chest, his life numbered in seconds. As with the men who had killed her mother, she saw the rage, the fear, and the panic all happen in quick succession, following by the succumbing to the Fade and the greyness that entered the eyes during that process... and the entire time, she kept her eyes locked on his.

Only when the smell of his excrement filled the room did she unlock her elbow, allowing her arm to straighten and his body to slip off her blade, followed quickly by the dagger itself as she collapsed to her knees, clutching a hand to the knife in her stomach and gasping in reaction to the pain, and the death, and the loss.

First, the knife: she wrapped her hand around the hilt and pulled it out, forced to use several strong, short jerks to get it entirely removed. Grimly she pressed a hand to the wound, indifferent to the extent of the damage as she shuffled the few feet to get to where Nelaros lay on the floor.

He was gone.

Dropping the other dagger still clutched in her hand, she reached out to caress his face, eyes burning with tears that would not come,  _could_  not come... yet. She had lost her hopes and dreams the moment that she had taken up that boning knife and opened a guard's throat, but she had thought it would only be  _her_  life that would end. She had saved Shianni... and lost everything else.

Her hand trailed down Nelaros' arm to his hand, caressing the ring on his finger for a moment before slipping it off. She stared at it blankly for a moment, the dull ache of his loss slowly being penetrated by the stunning revelation that she wasn't dead... and that she could, possibly, escape.

The ring was slipped over her thumb, and she shakily rose to her feet, the adrenaline still coursing through her system slowly giving way to the hollow, bone-weary sensation of shock. Still... Her eyes moved to the window visible over the top of the bookcase, open to the bright noon light of the day outside. She could walk and, if she bound the stab wound properly, might even be able to do more.

An hour later saw her dressed in men's clothing with a tight binding around her abdomen, a belt around her waist with the sheathed boning knife and Duncan's sword slung across her back, working her slow but sure way along the Thieves' Highway. As she moved silently across the roofs of Denerim, she saw the activity of the guards in the streets below, the discussions and their groupings, and knew that some of them would eventually find their way to the Alienage, to inquire why a dead elf had been found next to the Bann's nigh decapitated body. Grimly ignoring the pain, she again tried to force a rush of adrenaline through her body as she pushed on.

_Almost there, Kalindra. Almost home._

She just had no idea how much longer it would stay home after she reached it.

.~^~.

"The arl's son lies dead in a river of blood that runs through the entire palace! I need names, and I need them now!"

The voice preceded her arrival at the last rooftop of her journey, and she cautiously moved to the edge, fighting exhaustion and fear and anger, all of them draining her of energy. Glancing over the edge, she saw a group of guards arrayed in a threatening manner in front of a small group from the Alienage. The confrontation was taking place just inside the entrance closest to the Market, and she smiled wearily when she realized the reason the voice was so loud was because the speaker was almost directly beneath her current location.

"I assure you," she heard Valendrian respond in a placatory manner, "I do not know what you are talking about." Her keen eyes saw Soris, standing to Valendrian's right, shift uncomfortably.

Unfortunately, the shem also saw the motion, and advanced a step, pushing the older elf aside to grab the front of Soris' shirt. "What do you know?" His voice was heavy with implied threat.

"I seen this one," another guard said, and Kalindra's heart started thudding in her throat when the second man stepped forward. She recognized him even from this distance, the guard who had seemed to revel in hurting and humiliating the women as much as possible.  _He must recognize Soris as one of the grooms. He can't recognize him from the estates, but who will take the word of an elf over a shem?_  The anger, burning low on her trip back, stirred as new fuel was added to it. "Look, he's even got a weapon."

"A  _crossbow,_ " Valendrian pointed out. "Not a weapon known for leaving 'rivers of blood' in its wake."

"Well, why's he have it then?" the guard demanded belligerently.

"I gave it to him for reasons of my own," the figure to Valendrian's left replied, speaking for the first time. Kalindra looked at him, blinking in surprise as she recognized the distinctive timbre of the voice.  _Duncan?_

The guard sneered. "And why would you give a perfectly good weapon to a knife ear?"

"As I said, I had my reasons. And I assure you, this young man is blameless in this situation." He crossed his arms over his chest, not particularly  _menacing,_  but certainly not subject to intimidation, either.

The guard captain shook his head. "I don't like it. I've got a dead elf, a dead Bann, and several sons of prominent citizens in Denerim also dead, or as good as.  _Someone_  did it, and I'll need someone to present to the Arl." He nodded towards Soris. "Take him. If he didn't do it himself, he's still got a weapon he shouldn't, and probably knows something anyway."

The rage boiled. She hadn't let them have Shianni, and she would not let them have Soris, either. The spark that had been driving her to live, to fight, switched from defending her own life to protecting another's once more. Grabbing a nearby tile, she threw it down, trying to hit the guard captain. It missed, but at least it missed by hitting the sadist guard directly on his head, making him stagger.

"What-" the captain began, looking up reflexively. "Who's there?"

Kalindra had already begun to climb down. The motions were so familiar, so  _simple_ , that she could navigate her way down the wall operating almost on instinct, pausing only when the wound flared up too much to ignore. The captain barked orders, and she heard the creak of armor below her as some guards rushed to the bottom of the wall. One of them climbed up to meet her, pulling her down harshly, and she cried out as she landed on the ground, pain lancing through her side so sharply that her world swam for a moment.

"Bring her here!" She shook her head to clear it as hands seized her arms and hauled her upright, commenting as they did so.

"Maker, she's covered in blood!"

"These clothes look a mite familiar, too..."

"Quiet!" The captain ordered them, then moved to stand in front of her, scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes. "No way a slim little thing like you did this alone,"

She couldn't stop the tears the filled her eyes, and the cuts and bruises on her face ached as her face twisted. "The one who went with me is dead."

"Makes it easier, then." He nodded his head. "At least I'll have a warm body to hand to the Arl for his version of justice. I don't envy you, knife ear. You might have preferred to die back there yourself by the time he's through with you." He nodded to the guards, who started to haul her towards the gate leading from the Alienage.

"Captain... a word, if you please." Duncan's voice cut through the ambient noise, and the guards stopped, looking askance at the captain.

"What now?" The shem suddenly looked at Kalindra, then back at Duncan. "Now, wait just a minute-"

Duncan didn't let the man finish whatever he'd been about to say. "I hereby invoke the Grey Warden's Right of Conscription. I remove this woman into my custody."

The captain's face darkened. "You push my patience, Warden. You cannot keep on interfering with my duties like this."

Duncan held up his hand, and the captain subsided. "Nevertheless, it is within my rights to invoke the Right as I deem necessary. You may, of course, petition the King upon his return, but at this moment, my ability to recruit is absolute, no matter the current circumstance."

A rumble ran through the ranks of the guards, but the captain waved the discontent away. "Son of a tied down- Very well, Grey Warden. I will not challenge your rights, but I'll ask one thing: get this elf out of the city. Today." He gestured to the guards holding Kalindra's arms, and they muttered, shoving her back into the Alienage hard enough that she stumbled and almost fell. Soris moved forward to catch her before she fell, and she leaned against him gratefully, not quite sure how she managed to stay on her feet.

"Agreed," Duncan replied.

She felt Soris' arm tighten around her, and slowly the meaning of the words trickled through her dulled thoughts and sharp pain.  _Today._  Shivering, she let her head fall on Soris' shoulder as the captain grumbled, "Now, I need to get my men on the streets before this news hits. Move out!"

As the guards stomped away, muttering and glancing back at both Duncan and her, the Warden moved to stand in front of her. "You're with me now," he said softly, the gentle tone at odds with the implacability of his words. "Say your goodbyes, and see me when you're ready. We must make all haste to leave Denerim."

She looked up at him, hands tightening into fists. Her thumb dug into Nelaros' ring, and the tears that had threatened before spilled over in full now. "I-" Part of her rebelled, wanting to scream at the shem,  _You can't control me! I won't let you!_  Another part of her remembered the abject fear that had washed over her when Vaughan had threatened the Alienage, and she realized painfully that there truly was no alternative to departure. "Yes."

Duncan turned away as Soris turned her gently to face him. "Maker, Kal, you look like-" His hand reached to hover over but not touch her face, the ache in his eyes apparent.

"I don't want to know," she croaked. "You're all safe?"

He nodded. "Kal..."

"Take me to her."  _Shianni._

The walk back to her home - the house  _that had been_ her home - took far longer than it ever had before, but Soris was patient, stopping when she couldn't go any farther and supporting her when she wavered. By the time they reached the door, she was light-headed, but still walking, and when the door opened in front of her, it was all she could do to not run inside to where Shianni waited.

Their arms wrapped around each other, and Soris hugged them both. For a few moments the three stood together, silent, enjoying each others' presence. Unspoken was the emotion that bound them together,  _had_  bound them together, since they were children, no matter the expression of it. She loved her cousins, and knew they loved her... and now she had to leave them.

Shianni broke the silence first. "You meant to die." Kalindra nodded, and Soris inhaled sharply as he squeezed them a bit. "But you didn't."

"Everyone else did." Her voice cracked, emotion and fatigue making it impossible to think or speak straight. "Nelaros..."

Shianni pulled her even closer, making soothing sounds in her ear as the tears finally escaped in full. It  _hurt_  to cry - the knife wound was close to all the muscles involved - but it was a release and an expiation, and she had to do it one last time in the arms of those she knew loved her despite what had happened, since she didn't know what would happen after she walked through that gate leading away. Once the heaving sobs diminished, she managed to whisper, "I have to go. But I'll live."

"I know." Shianni kissed her lightly on the forehead. "You lived through yesterday. I know you can live through anything." She hesitated, then said softly, "Your father is with Aunt Delia. Should we-?"

Her voice trailed off as Kalindra looked away. She'd been disappointed when her father hadn't been here, and given the nature of privacy in the Alienage, she suspected it wasn't ignorance alone that kept him away.  _And surely Valendrian would have told him of my return as well._  The vague memory of a silhouette in the window of her Aunt's house as they passed came to her, and she blinked back the tears that rose. "No," she whispered. "Better he not see me like this." She remembered all too well his self-recrimination at being unable to protect his wife from the shems. To see his daughter in such a state… "It's better he remember me… from before." For a moment, she pictured what she must look like and shook her head. "As I said, best that I just… leave now. Fare well." She looked at both of them, first Shianni, then Soris. "I love you."

The tears came back after that, in all of them, and it took even longer to recover than the first time. By the time she returned to Duncan, her face was deeply lined with fatigue. "I'm ready."

Wordlessly he nodded and led the way from Denerim.

She followed him blindly, withdrawing to a place deep within where pain didn't exist and the world didn't matter. She willed herself to forget everything: the blood, the reason for it, the deaths, the night before, the wedding, the joy, the sorrow. Every time a memory intruded, she ruthlessly grappled with it, forcing it away and down into a deep corner that she could deal with  _later_. She barely noticed it as they moved through the Alienage Gate, through the Market, and to the main landward egress from Denerim, knowing only that she had to follow his ivory and grey armor wherever he led.

She was caught by surprise when he abruptly halted after an unknown period of time, running into him without control. She took a step back, fatigue over-correcting her reaction, and fell onto her backside, where she sat blinking in confusion for a moment. "Why did you stop?"

"While you were making your final farewells I arranged some transportation. Forgive me," he said as he knelt in front of her, took an arm, and began to peel back the sleeve, "but your physical plight did not escape my attention."

She flushed and snatched her arm from his grip, though not before he'd revealed the bruises and bite marks. "It will heal."

"Perhaps," he agreed, "but it would be foolish to ignore your injuries simply because of the manner in which they were acquired. He should be here soon with the ox and cart I purchased."

Her body shivered. Duncan was bad enough, but at least he was somewhat familiar. He saw the shiver, and his face softened. "Don't worry, he won't hurt you. I'll make sure of that."

 _And who will protect me from you?_  She didn't say it, but her eyes fell away and she withdrew even more from him, arms crossing her chest reflexively. She heard him sigh and stand as the slow, plodding sound of oxen hooves suddenly weighed in on the cusp of her hearing.

She heard Duncan walk to the sound, waiting in fear as it approached ever closer, and closed her eyes, trying to brace herself, to find that courage or bravado or insanity that had kept her going earlier, and failed. By the time the oxen and the creaking cart drew to a halt, she was shuddering visibly, eyes seeing nothing, and the memories she had tried so hard to push into that little pocket of  _later_  were striving to burst out and unsettle her even further.

When she heard the sound of feet approach her, she assumed it was Duncan and ducked her head, not wishing him to see  _more_  of her weakness. Surely he must be disappointed in such a weak, spineless recruit already...

"Kal?"

She gasped and lifted her head, turning it to look into warm brown eyes below a brow creased with worry. "Da-Daveth," she gasped.

It was too much. The pain, the stress, the fear, the shock: it all combined into a large blow, and she felt her eyes flutter up into her head as she fell forward into her lover's arms.


	4. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan gives Kalindra time to heal, and she contemplates her new life while her old wounds mend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta readers, Mille Libri and HereThereBeDragons!

_(Roof Thieves by[Agregor](http://agregor.tumblr.com))_

* * *

I won't apologize! _I declare to her, crossing my arms in front of me._

He's your cousin, _Mother reminds me, in that tone of inexorable adult logic._ And even if he weren't, you should never kick anyone else. _Her lip twitches suspiciously in one corner._ Especially if their only sin is trying to steal a kiss.

Motherrrr! _I whisper in protest, looking around for Shianni or, worse, Soris._ I don't want anyone else to know!

 _She laughs and draws me into her arms, an embrace I submit to despite the grand frown on my face._ Oh, little fox, he just wanted to know what a kiss feels like.

Well, he can't have one from me! _I declare hotly._ My first kiss is reserved!

Oh? _she asks with that same infuriating adult voice._ For whom?

I'll know when I meet him! _And that is the end of the discussion so I can go to Soris and apologize for kicking him._

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

" _A shem? You can't be serious."_

" _I am serious," Slim assured her, his normally animated face completely sober. "You're good, Kal, but that last caper almost got you killed."_

 _Moving her bandaged hand behind her, she scoffed, "That still doesn't mean I need a partner. A_ shem _, no less!"_

" _It's true that most shems aren't worth much, though I wouldn't exist without one. But this one's sharp, he's quick, and he's got a damn good instinct for avoiding trouble. Helped out a couple of the boys last night at the Pearl when they got in over their head with the Falcons." He sighed and shifted his bulk, then reached out and patted Kalindra's still visible hand. "Look, just try it, all right? He'll be your lookout - you're still the best infiltrator I've got, but it's almost uncanny how he can anticipate trouble. And you know that's exactly what you needed last time." He gently took her lowered chin in his hammy hand, bringing it up so their eyes could meet. "Please? For ol' Slim, if nothing else. I don't want to see that kind of damage to you ever again."_

_She hemmed and hawed, but eventually sighed and acquiesced. "Fine. What's his name, this country cousin you seem so determined to put me with?"_

" _Daveth."_

"Yes, love?"

The tenuous dream faded, and slowly she became aware of cold air on her face and a gentle rocking motion beneath her. Those two sensations quickly faded before an overwhelming sense of pain, however, and her brows knit together as she groaned softly.

"Don't move, Kal, it'll just make it worse. Although now that you're awake... think you can handle a drink o' the red?"

She felt glass touch her lips, which opened in response, allowing the bitter herbal mix entry to her mouth. Carefully he measured out a spare mouthful, then pulled it back, and she felt his finger lightly stroke her neck, trying to avoid the bruises, to help her swallow.

"There, that's good. We'll let that work for a while then try again."

She knew that tone - it was the tone he used when things weren't okay, but he wanted to convince her they were. Too weak to call him on it, she allowed the motion of the cart and the warmth of the poultice to steal away her consciousness again, perfectly willing for the pain to fade along with it.

" _I told you to stay back!"_

" _My bump of trouble woke up," he protested, trailing after her as she stalked across the roof. "It's a good thing I did, you know, or that guard would have seen you. You might have gotten the mark, but you would have been caught."_

_She stopped, then turned and glared at him, hating him for being right. "What will we tell Slim?"_

_He shrugged. "That we'll get it tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. The client can be patient, for a haul like this. Besides, 'no trouble' was part of the contract." Running a hand through his short hair, he said, "Look, I'm sorry it didn't go over how you wanted, but we have to keep our heads about us. Remember what happened to Severil." He looked at her oddly. "What's so important about this mark anyway?"_

_It wasn't the mark, it was the fact that it meant she had to attempt it again tomorrow, when she'd already had plans for... something else. Still, that_ could _be put off... "Nothing," she said, then started jogging, heading back across the Thieves' Highway to Slim's hidden home so they could report their temporary failure._

" _Right, nothing, she says." He fell into place next to her, surprisingly adept at navigating the rooftops of Denerim considering where he'd come from. "You know, that's what I like about you, this incessant need of yours to talk all the time and make sure I know what's on your mind. I appreciate it, you know. Most of the people I've met are so silent and taciturn."_

_She couldn't help it: she laughed, biting it off almost as soon as it came out. She'd never heard the shem shut up outside of a job itself - it's like he needed to hear the sound of his own voice to function._

" _Ah, a sense of humor emerges! And here I thought that Slim just kept you around because you can shimmy up a wall with no handholds through sheer will. I'm on to you now, little lady. Just you watch, someday that smile will come whenever I summon it."_

Little lady? _She couldn't answer right away, since they had to navigate a few tricky exchanges between warehouses, but when she had a moment she reached out and grabbed his tunic. "I'm not-"_

_He surprised her by pulling her in even closer and lifting her up into a kiss. It was merely a brushing of lips on lips, but the warmth that sprang up was surprisingly sudden and strong. Releasing her as quickly as he'd grabbed her, he danced away with a grin on his face. "Come on, little lady, the boss awaits!"_

_The blush didn't fade even as she darted after him. "I am_ not _a little lady!"_

"Come on, little lady, stay with me."

The grip of sleep was harder to leave, this time. The world had stopped moving, but the pain was just as intense as it had been before, and she was _freezing._ An odd sound filled the air, and dimly she became aware that it was her teeth chattering. Her body tried to shiver, too, prevented only by the fact that someone had bound her up in something soft. _Blankets._ Her hands had tightened into fists, and when she tried to unclench them, another ache was introduced into her world as blood began to flow from half-moon cuts left by her fingernails. Agony washed over her in varying waves of intensity as her muscles continued to spasm, aggravating her injuries and accentuating the pain.

"It's getting worse, boss." That voice, light and smooth, the voice of a trickster with a heart of gold. "It's the fever - the poultices keep trying to lower the fever, but the wounds aren't getting healed, and the fever keeps coming back."

"Yes, I know." The deep, somber timbre was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. "We'll be at Dunngath within the hour. There's someone there who will be able to help her, an apostate."

"An apostate?" The first voice was startled.

"The Wardens don't care where magic is trained, only that it aids our cause. In the midst of a Blight, I'll accept aid from any source I can. In the meantime, give her the warmth of your body as much as you can."

She felt a pressure against her body, and she panicked, whimpering and writhing away as best as she could as sheer animal fear overcame even the chills and pain in the need to _escape._ The pressure immediately lifted, and a hand began moving over her forehead, soothing in its motion. "No good, boss. I've seen this before, when women are brutalized. Best just to keep going."

"Perhaps you are right." A clucking sound, followed by the resumption of the gentle rocking motion from before. "Just do what you can. That is all we can do for now."

"Right."

The voices faded away, and slowly Kalindra's fear did as well as the hand proved to be very soothing indeed. The higher voice spoke, close to her ear, and said softly, "I'm right here, little lady. I'm not going to leave you, not now and not ever." This time when the pressure eased against her body, she allowed it, even if she couldn't quite place a name and a face to the voice. _Da- Da-_

The world faded again as she was lulled by his warmth and the rocking motion of the cart.

" _Daveth!"_

_Her blade finally penetrated the guard of her opponent, a drunken mercenary from the Crimson Oars, slicing along his throat - a messy but not lethal wound. They'd encountered the mercenaries outside the Pearl, and the trio of men had attacked them under the assumption that they were being robbed. Not her favorite fight, two rogues against three seasoned warriors, but at least they were drunk and she and Daveth were sober. As the first man screamed and covered the wound, she darted behind him to where his two similarly drunk but larger companions were pressing into Daveth, and her blades darted, seeking and finding the sensitive skin of their necks. "Come on!"_

_"Right you are!" he responded, dashing off after her as the mercenaries clutched at their necks and complained bitterly. They scrambled up some handy boxes piled strategically on a nearby cart until they'd reached the safety of the Thieves' Highway, and only then did they stop to catch their breath, panting heavily after the short but desperate run from a foe they didn't want to kill simply for being stupid._

_She caught her breath first, being the more spry of the two, and carefully wiped her blades before sheathing them on her back. When she looked at Daveth, her breath caught at the sight of the blood streaming down his face. "Please tell me that's a pigsticker."_

_He grimaced, but nodded. "Didn't dodge one of 'em fast enough, sadly. Idiot had a sharp sword, right enough. I hate to think what it's done to my fair beauty."_

_Reaching into her pouch for the cloth she'd just used to wipe her blades, she shook her head with amusement and approached him. "Kneel, you tall shem, you. I can't reach your head when it's way up in the sky like that."_

_Obediently he knelt down, though a grin was on his face as well. "You're such a little lady, I wonder if you could reach either head without me giving you a head's up."_

_She flushed even as she started dabbing at his face. "You're incorrigible."_

_He chuckled, not the least bit shy. "Hey, a man can hope, can't he?"_

_Concentrating on her task, she didn't immediately respond, carefully wiping away the blood on his forehead, cheek, and mouth. When she was done, she gripped his chin and tilted his head so she had the best light available to look at his wound. "It's bled out, I think."_

" _Tell me the truth. The scar won't ruin my looks forever, will it?" He squared his shoulders dramatically. "I'm a grown man, I can take it. Am I hopeless?"_

_She lifted his chin, the disparity in height meaning that he was a few inches below her. "Incredibly hopeless," she answered, then inched her hand around to the back of his neck and pressed her lips hesitantly against his._

_His surprise was evident in the small jerk of muscles across his neck and shoulders, but faded as his hands reached up and took her face between them, deepening and extending the kiss. The flirtation and hints and close moments had been building in the past year between them as she had come to regard him less and less as just a shem she worked with and more and more like a partner whose company she enjoyed. Yet when he had stood by her against her mother's killer, and saved her from that rapist in the robbery gone wrong, the conviction had grown in her that maybe he could be even more than just her partner in crime..._

_There was no denying that he was eager, and she allowed him to push her back against the wall. She closed her eyes as he made his way from her lips to her neck, planting soft kisses as he went, and her breath caught when his hand stole to her breast and gently squeezed. With a soft moan, she pushed into him, encouraging him._

_Thus she was taken by surprise when the gentle grip turned into a painful grasp, ripping her leather jerkin away, and panic arose when hands - multiple hands, too many to belong to a single man - grabbed her wrists and ankles and held her immobile, helpless. When her eyes opened, she found a familiar, terrifying visage before her, his red hair shining in the moonlight as his hand began to squeeze her suddenly bruised and cut flesh, cruelly digging into her with the express purpose to hurt and maim._

" _We are going to have some fun, little whore," Vaughan breathed, and she screamed as he drew a knife and slashed across her chest._

She entered the waking world all too readily this time, struggling against her wrappings as her arms wrapped around her chest defensively. Her body shuddered in remembered and actual pain, and she gasped soundlessly as she tried to scream with a throat that felt raw and swollen.

"Now, now, girl, it's just a dream," a female voice said from nearby. "Just a dream. You're safe enough, here."

She whimpered, not trusting the soothing voice as the memory of abuse continued to move in front of her eyes. She'd gone from thrashing mindlessly to paralysis, Vaughan's leer refusing to dissipate along with her dream, and the panic still gripped her voice in its talons.

A hand began stroking her forehead, just as before, though dimly she realized it had been someone different before, in the cart on the road. That bit of knowledge steadied her, made her realize that the other, the horrid memory of Vaughan, was _just a dream_ , and she gulped some breaths, working past the tightness in her muscles. Slowly the pants turned into shallow breaths, then lengthened into normal breathing, which led into long, sustained inhales and exhales. Calm was finally achieved, though she didn't know how _long_ it took, and after a while, she was able to stretch her body straight and begin the process of analyzing her surroundings.

She found herself in a bed - more of a cot, really - tucked into a small room with a single door and a small window that showed only sunlight and blue sky beyond it. Sitting on a small stool next to the cot was a woman, short and spare of frame, with alert hazel eyes, hair and head covered with a cloth to protect her from sun and, possibly, scrutiny. Kalindra offered a hesitant smile, receiving a gentle one in return. "Ah, hello." Her voice cracked, and she swallowed with a wince when she realized how dry her throat was.

"I'm pleased to finally make your waking acquaintance, my girl." The woman's voice held the faintest trace of an accent, though it seemed enough years had been spent in Ferelden for it to be almost eradicated. Leaning forward, she began fussing with her patient: loosening blankets, fluffing pillows, and helping Kalindra to sit up. Once these tasks were accomplished, the woman held out a full waterskin. "Drink all of this. You've been in fever dreams for the better part of a week now, and you need your strength to return, and quickly."

"A-" The pain forced Kalindra to stop the question, and she reached out to take the skin, a bit surprised at the bandages around her hands. Still, the promise of liquid for her dry and cracked throat and lips sounded enchanting. As she brought the skin to her lips, she was astonished how hard it was to lift the full bag to her lips, but she struggled until she got her first mouthful.

It was bitter - likely with some kind of healing herbs - but it felt _wonderful_ as it eased past her lips and down her parched throat. She heard the woman caution, "Not too much at once, now. You don't want to vomit it all up again. Take a mouthful, wait a few breaths, then repeat. But get it all down."

Kalindra nodded, still awash in the simple bliss of the water itself. Meticulously she followed the woman's instructions, forcing herself through the agony of the first few mouthfuls until the act of swallowing grew easier. When she felt able, she asked softly, "And you are?"

The woman blinked, then chuckled. "Goodness, I've been spending so much time with you of late I'd forgotten we've never actually been introduced. Mind you keep drinking that," she cautioned when Kalindra didn't take another sip, and waited until her erstwhile patient did as directed. "Better. You may call me Asha, my dear. Duncan told me your name is Kalindra. That's not Fereldan, is it?"

"Rivaini," Kalindra agreed with a nod. "My mother originally came from there." A slightly stern look on Asha's face made her continue to drink her medicine before she received another well-meaning reprimand.

As Kalindra worked on emptying the waterskin, Asha began to talk again. "I've never been there, I'll admit, but I've met some interesting people from there, that's for certain." She laughed. "Dunngath tends to get its own share of _interesting_ folk, that's for certain."

"Dunngath?" Kalindra inquired, trying to place the unfamiliar name.

Asha nodded. "It's a little mining town outside Denerim, known mostly by those who live or do business here. I'm not surprised you've never heard of it." She leaned closer and lifted her patient's chin, looking at her neck with a keen eye. "The bruises are mostly gone. That's a good sign - it means your body is starting to catch up with healing naturally."

Kalindra suddenly felt a warmth wash over her, originating at the point where the woman's hand was touching her, moving over her body in a wave of tingling and warmth. She gasped. "Magic?" A vague recollection of an overheard conversation came back to her. "You're the apostate!"

Asha nodded calmly, leaning back to sit up straight once more. "Healing isn't my strongest school, but it was enough to keep you alive."

"Alive?" She shifted uncomfortably, trying to feel the extent of her injuries. "How badly was I hurt?"

"The fever that dried you came from an infection centered around the stab wound in your torso," Asha said clinically. "I think the blade was probably not clean when it stabbed you, given the rapidity with which the infection struck. At any rate, you almost died. As I said, healing is not my strongest area of magic, but I do know quite a bit about herbs, and was able to keep you with us." She smiled, the physician becoming a nurse once more. "The herbs in the drink are stimulative and soothing. You need to get out of that bed as soon as possible. The Blight waits for no woman, and Duncan can't afford to wait too much longer for you either."

The mention of the shem made Kalindra's smile falter, because it reminded her of the circumstances leading to her departure from Denerim, and all that had changed in her life in such a short time. "So Duncan is still-" She couldn't ask about Daveth, not directly, but Duncan would still be here if he was determined to have her for the Wardens, despite her physical condition.

"He and the other recruit are still here, yes. Duncan said that once your recovery is assured, he'll send the young man - Daveth, I believe - ahead to where the King's forces are gathered to await your arrival. He's been most concerned for you, said that there was some rather unpleasant business back in Denerim." Asha's voice lowered as she leaned forward. "Does he know... _how_ unpleasant?"

Kalindra shivered violently and looked away from the pity in those eyes. Naturally this woman would know the extent and nature of her injuries, if she'd been tending to her while she was unconscious. "I- I'm not sure."

The apostate reached out and patted her leg sympathetically. "It's not something a man could truly understand, I think. When you're ready, I would encourage you to speak of it." Her hand tightened slightly, and her lips echoed it in her face. "Your injuries... I hope the ones who assaulted you are dead."

Kalindra nodded slowly, gaining at least some satisfaction from that knowledge. "Like dogs," she whispered.

That seemed to satisfy her. "Excellent. You'll do well among the Wardens, my dear. There may not be many women, but all the women are tough and know how to survive." Standing, she said, "Keep drinking that water until it's gone. After you've used the chamberpot, we'll get some broth into you. Your stomach will likely be delicate for a day or so, but you need to start eating food sooner rather than later." Giving Kalindra a reassuring smile, she said, "Don't worry. I'll make sure you're ready to take on the Darkspawn in no time." With a final pat to Kalindra's shoulder, Asha ducked out of the room and disappeared from sight.

 _What a lovely thought,_ Kalindra thought with resignation as she settled back into pillows, obediently swallowing the water, slowly but steadily, one mouthful at a time. _She seems to know about the Wardens... A source of information. Good._ She sighed and closed her eyes for a few moments, trying to reacquaint herself with her body. The dull ache in her midriff from the knife wound made her free hand move to explore it, then the rest of her torso. The network of scars she found made her grimace. _Not even Daveth could overlook these_.

Almost as if the thought had summoned him, he appeared in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder before looking into the room she lay in. When he saw that her eyes were open, he grinned and ran to her, leaning down for a bearhug.

And she couldn't help it: she stiffened and pulled back, even though it was _Daveth._

He picked up on it, of course: no one could work in Slim's crew for long without being sent on one of his 'rescue the women' missions and working with the ones they stole away from abusive husbands and fathers. He immediately pulled back and sat on the stool. "Sorry, love. I just-" His head shook, and he settled for a hand laid flat on the blanket next to her. "I thought I lost you again."

That word, _again_... Their last conversation, before the wedding, went through her mind, and she looked away. "You'll never be that lucky," she whispered, though the lightness of tone she'd _wanted_ to employ refused to come to her.

"And here I thought I was the one who had to be beaten away with a Mabari stick." It was _that tone_ again: when he wanted to cheer her up, but something was wrong.

Bringing the almost empty skin up for another swallow, she turned to him. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" He chuckled, waving the comment away even though the line didn't disappear between his brows. "You're the one who almost- I mean, you're the one in recovery this time. There's nothing for you to be sorry for, little lady. I'm just glad you're all in one piece. Asha did the Maker's work with you, that's for certain."

She nodded slowly, then reached out and put her hand on the one he'd left clenched next to her on the bed. "I mean I'm sorry about before."

His chin ducked down, hiding his volatile face from her for a moment. "No, you were right. I know that now. I mean, I always knew it wasn't... forever between us, or anything. You'd never... you'd never be able to take me home, not to the Alienage." He looked up at her finally, and she bit her lip at his expression, a mixture of stern resolve and hurt little puppy. "I mean... I _know_ what humans did to your family. Maker, I helped you kill that last bastard that did it."

She could see the same question in his face, that wanted to know how she could go from hating shems so much that she wouldn't even call him by his name until he'd helped her kill a man, to offering him that kiss on the rooftop that had led to a night of bare flesh and soft moans beneath the full moon. And she knew her only answer was, she couldn't trust any shem... except those who earned her trust.

Like he had, though it had taken him the better part of a year to do so.

Still, even that trust was strained as the ugliness of her nightmare suddenly shook her, and she looked away, forcing herself to remember that this was _Daveth_ , and he would never hurt her. At least, not in _that_ way. "So how did you end up with Duncan? That seems a bit odd, since I can't picture him wandering the streets of Denerim, ringing a bell and calling for 'all hands come to the Wardens.'"

Daveth snorted with laughter. "No, no, nothing like that. It was my own damn fault, really. It was that night after..." She could almost hear what was coming. "After we fought about the wedding. I wasn't thinking clearly, right? So, like a fool, I wandered into the Market District and tried to pickpocket the first rich-looking mark I see, so I could have enough coin to get as drunk as I wanted to be. Guess whose purse I marked as ripe for the picking?"

She turned her gaze back to him, his grin giving away the answer. "Not... not Duncan!" She laughed. "Leave it to you to pick the one person that was a rogue to pull that move on. This is why Slim always told me to pick the targets on our freelance nights."

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in, why don't you." His expression was rueful as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, since neither Kalindra nor he had let go of each other. "Well, it's like I always said, without you, I'm as helpless as a newborn lamb. Anyway I was so surprised when he caught me at it, I scarpered off. He was quick, but not _that_ quick. Unfortunately, I scarpered right into the bloody garrison."

His expression was such that she couldn't contain it any longer. She burst out laughing, even though the movement hurt her throat and stomach a little. "Oh, Daveth, that's- that's-"

"I hope you aren't about to say 'typical'," he muttered. "So yeah, right into the bloody garrison, and boy they recognized me right quick enough. I guess that poster of my lovely face was still making the rounds in Kylon's barracks, eh?" He sighed. "Anyway, there I am, and there's this nice convenient tavern sign and some rope nearby, and there's me sweating like a nug in a lava pit, when the man I'd just tried to rob strolls up and proceeds to convince the guards to let me go. Not only to let me go, but says I'm going to be a Grey Warden!" He shook his head slightly, and Kalindra remembered with a smile the stories he'd used to tell on their long nights waiting for marks to appear or conditions to be just right for a job.

"Do you get a griffon all of your own?" she teased.

"I wish. Sadly I think the poor things are all gone by now, long dead. Like I'd be if I ever show my face in Denerim and get caught by that garrison again." A mischievous twinkle entered his eyes. "Made sure they wouldn't forget their last sight of me, that's for sure."

Her eyes widened. "Daveth, you didn't!"

"Oh, yeah, the full Slim Couldry treatment, even if his is a bit more... girthy, if you know what I mean." His free hand reached behind him and slapped his buttock smartly. "The only part of me more beautiful than my face, you have to admit that."

Again she laughed, and twined her fingers reflexively through his. "You're incorrigible."

"Damn right. You'll never find anyone else like me, guaranteed. Maker preserve Thedas if you do." They shared the laughter for a few seconds, and when the mirth quieted, he patted her hand gently. "Like I said, Kal, I _am_ sorry. I should never have... said those things, or issued ultimatums, or any of it. Maybe being a Grey Warden means giving up your former life, but... I guess we're lucky, aren't we? We'll get to be Grey Wardens together."

And just as quickly as those words were spoken, her mood swung back. She no longer was thinking of Daveth, but of a still, cold body lying dead on the ground, of the wedding ring on his finger, and she felt her face fall even as her eyes teared up. "I'm sorry, Daveth, I can't- You're a good friend, but..."

He cursed softly, then got on his knees and reached over to gently rub his hand on her forehead. "Sorry, love, that was a stupid thing to say. Just... Just let it out, and when you're ready to talk, I'll be here. All right?"

She nodded, eyes closed. "When I'm ready," she whispered.

"That's all a man can ask for. I waited for you once before." She felt lips press against her forehead and forced herself to remain still. "I can wait again."

The floorboards creaked as he stood, the noise following him to the door. "Daveth!" she called suddenly.

"Yes, little lady?"

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze. "I-I'm glad you're here. And I hope you can wait, too." She shuddered as she said it, her body violently disagreeing with her heart and mind, but she forced the words out.

He grinned, then kissed his fingers and threw the 'kiss' at her. "I'm glad to be here. Until later, little lady."

She waited until he was out the door before she curled up on her side and let the tears fall silently, rubbing her hands over her arms and torso to rub the filth away.

It didn't help.

.~^~.

She collapsed when her legs gave way underneath her, her not-so-silent curse ringing in the air around her. "Andraste's tits!" The exclamation left her a little breathless, and she ignored Daveth when he started towards her, only to be pulled back once more by Duncan. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to her feet again, determined to walk down the street without aid. Three days ago she'd finally been able to leave the room under her own strength, and yesterday she had managed to walk from Asha's modest house to the street itself before her strength gave out. Her stomach had finally allowed her to start eating again two days ago, and now she ate enough for three healthy elves.

Still, being stronger than a weak kitten didn't mean strong _enough_.

Setting her jaw, she continued in her task, grateful the small town's populace were all in the mines at the moment. The only ones to see her humiliate herself were Daveth and Duncan, the latter of whom watched her with measuring eyes. She could feel the impatience in him, the need to be off and fight the Blight, but whenever she suggested they take the cart to Ostagar, he would shake his head and demur. "Once you are better, we can make up the time we would lose using the cart. I have faith in you."

It was a constant message from him, and one that left her warming to him despite her recent experiences. Daveth's obvious camaraderie with him also inclined her to view him with less mistrust, even if trust couldn't come easily to her. Still... he _cared,_ and after years of living with a man who barely noticed her except to remark how she resembled the mother she still longed for after all these years... She felt a knee buckle, and immediately locked it, forcing herself to stay upright.

Pushing all distractions from her mind, she focused on the window of the house at the end of the street from her and resumed motion. It wasn't graceful, and it wasn't satisfying, but in the end, she achieved her goal, leaning against the house as she let her muscles have their well-earned rest. They were healed, by this point - even the stab wound - but she was weak, and she _detested_ it. Her years working in Slim's crew had taught her that a weak woman in particular was a target, and she now knew viscerally the horrors that befell those who could not adequately defend themselves from those who viewed all those weaker as prey. Her hand moved to her face, tracing the lines of the scars that would never fade. The fox of the original five marks she'd carved herself had been obliterated in the wake of bitemarks and cuts from rings and fingernails, and the simple act of feeling the ridges was enough to make her hover on the cusp of rage and despair.

With a snarl, she pushed herself away from the house, turning to face the street again. _I will not be a victim._ Grimly she began putting her feet before each other again, aware that she was more susceptible to falling now than before, but using the adrenaline flowing through her to push through the barrier of reluctance and fear as she moved to Asha's house. _I will not be helpless ever again._

And, step by step, she began to prove to herself that she could keep those promises to herself.

She was aware of their eyes on her as she moved. Daveth's soft brown eyes were filled with worry, a friend indeed, but Duncan, she thought, must be judging her with each step. The Wardens could not afford weaklings, or those who faltered in their resolve, not if the Darkspawn were as horrid as the legends stated. The few stories she and Daveth had managed to worm out of the man had been sufficiently sobering, but any time she tried to bring up the subject of Ostagar - particularly what would happen once they reached the ruins – the Warden would only shrug and tell them that only time would tell what would be necessary once they arrived. Now that she was well enough to be active - even if the level of activity didn't meet her own personal level of expectation - her mind was afire with curiosity. Granted, she still woke most nights in a cold sweat, sometimes more than once, and avoided the residents of Dunngath as much as possible, but in Ostagar, she wouldn't be 'the knife ear brought in nearly dead'.

She'd be a Grey Warden recruit. And though it was not what she'd wanted in life, it seemed to be the best option available to her after nearly beheading the son of the Arl of Denerim.

Her thoughts were so consuming that when the door opened to Asha's house and the woman herself stepped out, she was shocked at how close she already was to her goal. Perhaps it was as Duncan said... each effort would feed into the next. The woman smiled and held out a waterskin and a small cloth. "Drink?"

Nodding gratefully, she took the skin and drained it in large gulps, the taste of the bitter herb - 'elfroot', according to Asha - less noticeable after all these days of drinking the odd mixture. She rubbed the cloth over her sweat-drenched face, then handed them both back to Asha and turned around again.

"Don't push yourself too hard," she heard Asha caution as she focused on the window on the far end of the street.

She made no reply. She hadn't become one of the most notorious thieves in Denerim by taking it easy, and even more was riding on her recovery than had been riding on her success.

This time when she passed Duncan in the street, she knew that the upward curve of his lips was more than mere encouragement, and felt a warm feeling suffuse her as she accepted his pride in her efforts with a nod. Lifted by the exchange, she pressed on.

.~^~.

"You're doing well."

Kalindra looked up from her plate, swallowing reflexively, and watched as Duncan took a seat next to her. "I'm doing better than I was. I'm not where I'd like to be, yet."

He chuckled. "You hold yourself to a higher standard. That is to be expected, for one chosen for the Grey Wardens. You've been almost a week out of bed, now, and no signs of relapsing that I can detect." His gaze rested on her face for a moment, and she read the question in them before he asked, "Are you ready?"

She was acutely aware of the scars that covered her, both visible and hidden, and, in Asha's words, 'as healed as they would ever be'. Her hair now covered half of her face - the pristine, unscarred half, the half of her former life that had been ended so painfully - so that the marks of her new journey would show to the world, a warning to those who might think to discount her again. She knew that only time and effort was left before her, not a limitation that another could fix. She could fight - though she hadn't fully attained her top form, not yet - and knew that her recovery was more than assured by this point.

She broke away from his gaze and looked down at the plate half-full of the potatoes and meat that she had become accustomed to eating while in Dunngath. _Was_ she ready? She still woke in cold sweats at least once a night, desperate to avoid dreams of a red-haired shem or the dead husband she'd been unable to protect. The one time Daveth had tried to just be in the same cot with her - and no more - she'd almost broken his nose in her sleep before collapsing into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Sometimes, for no reason other than a flash of light off a blade or the sudden appearance of an unknown shem, she would freeze like a deer, waiting for the hunter's arrow to find her.

But that would all go away... wouldn't it?

She took a deep breath and ran a finger over the wedding rings on her hand: hers, where Nelaros had placed it, and his, where she'd put it on her thumb. If she couldn't have him, and the family she'd always dreamed of... then she could at least find a second home, a second family. _I hope._ Her green eyes lifted to meet his. "I am."

"Good. We leave in the morning." His tone became brisk, business-like. "Daveth will travel with us until we've found the main highway again, then go on ahead of us and assure them that I am indeed on my way." He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to apologize. "I'm not concerned with the delay thus far - I had anticipated venturing to additional locales other than Denerim to find some more recruits, and yet I found two there. The very fact you survived your injuries gives me great confidence that you will indeed thrive within our ranks. So do not worry about it. We shall go to Ostagar, and fight this Blight with the forces at our disposal. The Wardens do what they must." After a short nod, he stood. "I'll go finish arranging our supplies. Eat well, and sleep. Dawn comes early."

She watched him go, mind swirling with thoughts both old and new. _The Wardens do what they must._ A sudden shiver swept through her, though she didn't know from whence it came, and she brought her fork to her mouth again, returning her attention to her food. He was right, dawn _always_ came early.

And it was time to move on in her life.


	5. Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they get closer to their destination, Kalindra grows closer to Duncan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta readers, Mille Libri and HereThereBeDragons!

 

  


* * *

Little fox?  _I hear her footsteps approaching from the hall and gasp, quickly putting the treasure away so she wouldn't see it before running to her and wrap my arms around her._

Are you all right, little fox? s _he asks, brow furrowed._  You didn't come when I called.

 _I realize I didn't even hear her call, and bite my lip. She can't find out about the treasure!_ I'm fine, really! Can we go to the Tree today?

 _She draws me in and kneels in front of me._ I know you spent time with Slim today,  _she said, voice firm._ Did he give you anything?

 _I'm very proud I don't look at the place I put the treasure and quickly shake my head._ N-no! Nothing.

_She raises an eyebrow, and waits expectantly._

_I wilt under her gaze._ I promised I wouldn't tell anyone,  _I whisper anxiously._

 _Her hand tucks some hair behind my ear._ Just make sure you don't make promises you can't keep, little fox.  _Standing, she reaches for my hand._ Come, the Tree awaits.

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

The first day was difficult, as it involved skirting the base of Dragon's Peak to return to the main highway. By the end of it she was as exhausted as she'd ever been, including those first few days after waking up in Dunngath. Though she never complained, and never slackened her pace or allowed them to slow it for her, she was grateful to simply collapse next to the fire when they  _did_  stop, entering immediately into a boneless, dreamless sleep.

She woke before the sun rose, however, and was surprised to find that Daveth had set his sleeping roll very close to hers. When she felt the warmth that enclosed one of her hands, she smiled. Slowly rolling towards him, she kissed his hand where it clasped hers, then pressed her lips briefly on his forehead before gently extricating herself from his grasp and standing fully. She walked around the campsite stealthily, working out the inevitable kinks one always gained from sleeping on hard, flat ground. While doing so, she found Duncan sitting on a boulder, looking out into the forest around them. Assuming he was keeping watch, she walked towards him, allowing herself to make some sounds so that she wouldn't startle him.

Acknowledging her presence with a silent nod, he kept his attention focused around them. Curiously, she asked softly, "We're still very close to Denerim, aren't we? Wouldn't it be safer here?"

"Any city attracts its fair number of dangers, and sometimes those dangers extend outside the walls. Bandits patrol the countryside, looking for merchants with broken wagons or travelers that stop just for that last small break before the final push to the city..." His keen eyes kept finding motion and dismissing it, alert for what did not belong rather than what did. "Being this close to the main highway is actually more dangerous than being in the deep wilderness. Fire will keep most animals away, but it attracts danger of the two-legged sort, and most people think they are safer... and thus the bandits find even more receptive prey." He shook his head. "Desperate men, usually: the worst kind to meet."

She looked out, now a trifle nervous. "I'd never thought of it that way. Mother took me a couple of times beyond the city walls, and occasionally I'll venture forth to find flowers, but never out of sight of Denerim."

"It is a lesson that most people often learn too late. I have learned not to underestimate those who are willing to murder for plunder." His eyes grew distant for a moment, a furrow between his brows, and she wondered what memory stirred within him. Before she could do more than wonder, he said, "Since you're up, why don't you prepare breakfast? The less time spent on it later, the earlier we can reach the highway."

Nodding, she turned and moved to the packs, quickly assembling the hard bread and sausage they would be eating. Without much thought, she pulled the boning knife from the sheath at the small of her back to cut out portions for each of them. As she wiped the blade on the cloth that had been wrapped around the sausage, however, she stopped and contemplated the knife, which had become as inseparable from her as the ring she taken from Nelaros.  _Should I be worried that I view an instrument of death to be as important as a symbol of love?_

She honestly didn't know.

"What, not even toasted?" Daveth yawned even as he voiced the mild complaint, sitting and stretching all in one smooth motion. "Pity, that. Ah, well, I suppose I'll just have to look forward to the lovely hard tack I'm sure we'll have for lunch and dinner, to- Hey!" His dexterous hands reached out and caught the food Kalindra threw at him. "That's my breakfast you're lobbing about like a flaming dagger, little lady! I thought we'd agreed that I should never be allowed to go hungry! You know I'm whiny when I'm hungry."

"Oh, so  _that's_  the reason for all the noise," she teased as she took her food in one hand and Duncan's in another and stood. "And here I thought you just woke up grumpy."

Ignoring his good-natured grousing, she took the food to Duncan, who accepted it with gratitude. "We should be ready to leave in a quarter hour, when we have the light of false dawn to move in."

She nodded, busily downing her breakfast even as she turned to take care of the fire.

As the day passed, she watched Duncan carefully, knowing that in the open she was at a distinct disadvantage. Having something to concentrate on - learning how to truly move and pay attention to the wilderness around her, unfamiliar as it was - also helped her ignore her fatigue more easily. She managed to sneak in more frequent snacks and water throughout the day than either of the men, though Duncan still ate more than her at each regular meal. Bread and preserved meat were poor substitutes for the hearty feasts they'd left behind in Dunngath, after all, and her body still craved the extra energy that only food could provide.

It wasn't until Duncan halted them and looked around with a slight frown that she realized that he might be uncertain as to their location. Glancing around the undergrowth around them, she asked, "Are we near the Imperial Highway?"

"We should have run into it by now," Duncan said. "I wanted to avoid Denerim on our way to the Highway, but I would have thought it close."

"Give me a minute," Kalindra said, examining their surroundings with a critical eye. She found what she was looking for only a few dozen yards to the left, and trotted to the tree with low branches, ample handholds, and a commanding height of the surroundings. "Be right back!"

Quickly she shimmied up the trunk, finding the tree much easier to climb than the Vhenadahl or the buildings of Denerim, and ascended until she was clear of the surrounding trees. Holding one hand up to block the afternoon sun beating down on her, she moved her eyes over the surroundings until she found what she presumed was the highway: a long, contiguous break in the canopy of trees. She quickly took her bearings, and grinned: apparently they had been traveling parallel to the highway for quite some time.

With a small shrug, she descended, taking care to test the branches, and dropped when she had reached the last few feet. Dusting her hands off, she said, "I can see it from here. We've been damn close to it for a while now, almost following it, just off the path itself."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "I'm impressed. That was not only quick thinking, but excellent skills. I'd always wondered how you came to be on that rooftop in the Alienage."

"Denerim's roofs offer a unique highway system of its own for those brave enough to navigate," she replied, not wanting to discuss that particular day.

"And Kal's the best there is at running it," Daveth piped in. "She even climbed Fort Drakon once on a dare, she did."

"Shush, you," she admonished, though it  _had_  been a bit of a triumph to succeed and win the coin purse of silver from Slim for  _that_  little escapade. Returning her attention to Duncan, she pointed in the direction she'd seen the Highway. "It's that way."

"Lead on," he murmured. "You're the one who found it, not I. I'm perfectly content to take the rear for the moment." He bowed slightly. "And someday I wouldn't mind seeing you climb Fort Drakon myself. It is quite the formidable fortress."

Blushing slightly at the compliment, she turned and led the way to the Highway. Thankfully, her mother had been right: not  _all_  shems were bad. She fought the moment of terror as the memory of a tall, red-haired man flashed through her mind.  _And he's dead._ That thought gave her enough strength to push through the sudden urge to break down. Each day was better than the last, and hopefully, one day, she would be able to think of Vaughan without fighting the urge to give up and give in to her fear and pain.

For now, though, she at least had the memory of her knife sinking into his chest to warm her at night.

.~^~.

She waved one last time to Daveth before he disappeared around a bend in the road. She was much improved, but she knew she wasn't quite ready to keep the pace that Daveth could maintain on his own. At least she could rest easier in the knowledge that she'd taught him how to pick a place to sleep in the trees so he could avoid attacks at night. They'd had a bandit scare the previous night - their first of the journey after finding the road - and she'd taken the time afterward to give Daveth a quick lesson as best she could. He was quick and alert to trouble - better than she, as their partnership in Denerim had repeatedly shown - and she knew that he could get to Ostagar using Duncan's incredibly detailed instructions.

Yet she still worried.

"He'll be fine," Duncan told her, reading the expression on her face. "But I did need those messages to go through as soon as possible. As it is, we will need to go to Redcliffe on the way to Ostagar ourselves to get a final progress report on Eamon's forces. Cailan will need to know the status of all the forces within his kingdom, and Loghain also requires that information to successfully plan the strategy."

 _Cailan. Loghain._  One could not grow up in Denerim without hearing those names, and she ducked her head and flushed slightly when she thought of all the times her 'activities' likely had gotten to their ears. Slim had his prejudices, and was never shy about including the nobility - particularly Arl Urien and the Banns who chose to remain 'in residence' in Denerim.

He saw her reaction and chuckled. "Daveth told me a great deal about your time together in Denerim. I must say, it does hit close to home."

She looked up, the odd sensation of guilt fading before her curiosity. "I knew you were trained as a rogue," she began cautiously.

"Oh, I was a rogue and a thief. That's how I became a Warden, in fact." He chuckled as he pulled his weapons from his back and settled the hilts into his palm. "Perhaps that's why I was so quick to recruit Daveth. It seemed a shame to deny the lad the same chance I had, simply because he had lived on the wrong side of the law for a time." He settled into a fighting stance. "I'll tell you more if you can hold your own against me."

It soon became a regular part of their day, this exchange of training for gossip and stories. Though the first day she learned nothing of his past, by the third day - much to her surprise - she had earned the story of his capture and Joining. By the time they were halfway to Redcliffe, she had heard all about Genevieve, the woman he had first served under in the Wardens. At that point, he changed the stakes:  _defeat_  him, and she would learn more. It took until they were a day outside of Redcliffe, but finally her curiosity drove her to execute a brilliant spinning attack that slapped his sword and dagger aside and ended with her blade on his throat.

And that night, all but ignoring the rather tepid taste of the biscuits and hard tack that were all that was left of their food, she listened in awe as she learned how Duncan met Maric, and about the re-establishment of the Wardens in Denerim. She knew that the Wardens had a chapter-house in Denerim, but she hadn't realized that it had been a recent phenomenon - well, relatively recent, anyway.

It was while they were having an animated discussion about the history of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden that it suddenly hit her: she was comfortable with him. More than comfortable, in fact, and she stopped mid-sentence as an odd feeling stole over her. She turned away from him abruptly, keeping the side of her face covered with hair facing him, and took a few deep breaths to push the tears away.

"What is it?" he asked, suddenly concerned. She heard the  _tink_  as he put his long-empty plate of tin aside, heard the sound of his footsteps as he approached and knelt beside her. Even then, he was careful not to invade her space, having learned that lesson in Dunngath. "I'm sorry, I didn't think my story about Levi would upset you so."

"It's not that." She took a deep breath and stood abruptly. "I'm sorry, I truly am, but... I need to think."

"Then by all means, do so. Tomorrow is Redcliffe, and Eamon. We won't be there long, of course, but while we're there, I intend to get you some better arms and armor. The blacksmith is quite skilled." She looked at him, startled at the thought, then felt ashamed to think that a Commander would not think of adequately arming his soldiers. "There will be a smith at Ostagar, of course, but Owen sometimes produces amazing work, and I want others to be as proud of you as I am."

Again she nodded numbly, and again the tears rose. "I- Thank you." In her vulnerability, her weakness, and in the face of his generosity, she suddenly stepped towards him and embraced him, holding him tightly for a bare moment, then backed away. "I'll be up there."

Before he could respond to her uncharacteristic gesture, she turned and ran to the tree she had seen when they'd chosen their camping spot, quickly reaching a spot that was high enough, but not so high as to be dangerous. Settling her back onto the nest of branches and putting her legs up on the trunk, she spent some time staring up at the stars, and let the tears flow, silently, down the sides of her face.

 _A shem. He's a_ shem _,_  she argued with herself.

 _So was Daveth, and he was your first male lover,_  the calm voice pointed out.

 _That was different, and anyway, I knew him years before that happened. I shouldn't- I shouldn't-_ She brought a hand up to cover her mouth and the sob that emerged.  _I shouldn't prefer a shem to my father._   _I shouldn't wish that he would see me as his daughter in return. I shouldn't ask the Creators to help me forget my father. A child owes their parent more than that. Don't they?_

The inner voice had no answer.

She didn't know how long she stayed in the tree, crying and singing softly to herself, but by the time the moon had climbed to its peak and begun setting again, she had regained her calm. Carefully, she swung her body around and descended, looking around for Duncan so she could relieve him of the watch.

 _Oh, Father... I hope I get to speak with you one last time..._  Perhaps she couldn't be stationed in Denerim after the Blight, but maybe she could ask Duncan to arrange a meeting between her and Cyrion after the Blight was over. They hadn't really had an opportunity to talk after the wedding, after all, or about the consequences. As she nodded to Duncan and settled into place on the boulder he'd chosen, the thought crossed her mind once more.  _Just one last time..._

.~^~.

She shifted on her feet as she tried to acclimate to her new armor, watching the curious bypassers warily from her position outside Owen's shop. She'd been relieved when 'Owen' had proved to be an older shem. He was, perhaps, not the most polite person in the world, but he was quick and efficient, and seemed to know Duncan quite well, judging by the hearty handshake and back slapping that was exchanged between the two. He and Duncan were finalizing the details for some daggers Owen thought he could 'make work' for her, a feat he would accomplish while Duncan and Kalindra visited Arl Eamon at the Castle.

Kalindra couldn't deny that it was that last part that made her so nervous. There had certainly been plenty of time for word of her actions in Denerim to spread to the other lords in Ferelden, if someone were of a mind to do so. Duncan had assured her that, as a Grey Warden recruit, she was untouchable by law, but for one who had spent her entire life watching those in her community be punished arbitrarily by the law and who had spent much of her time evading the law herself, the words rang hollow and were less than reassuring.

So deep was she in her thoughts that when Duncan's hand fell on her shoulder, she started slightly. "Come, it's time to go see the Arl." Nodding, she fell in beside him, a habit she'd formed in their travels on the road. At first she'd tried to walk behind him, but he'd disabused her of the notion.  _You are not inferior, nor do I wish you anywhere but at my side as a fellow warrior._  It was still odd, to be treated in such a way by a shem, yet Duncan was, well,  _Duncan._

As they walked up the hill to the path Duncan had pointed out earlier, she asked curiously, "Why did Owen have a set of rogue armor sized for a female elf? That seems... odd for village this size."

Duncan chuckled. "I was wondering if you'd notice. Remember when I first met you, I told you that I had found what I was seeking?" She nodded. "I came to Denerim to find  _you_ , Kalindra. Daveth was a happy coincidence, but Adaia had sent me many letters about you. Even before her untimely death, she saw great potential in you. She had actually asked that I find you a position that did not require you to use your skills as she did, but... well, that became... impossible. I had intended to bring the armor with me to Denerim when I came to get you, but then Slim's letter informed me that your marriage was imminent-"

"Slim?" she asked, then wondered why she was surprised. Of  _course_  Slim would want a life for her outside of that of a street thief in Denerim - he'd talked often enough about how her mother had wanted 'more' for her, after all. "I'm sorry, I can see him doing that, I just never realized he knew Grey Wardens."

" _A_  Grey Warden," Duncan corrected. "One who had a rather colorful past himself and understood the value of maintaining certain... acquaintances, even as a Warden Commander. At any rate, I commissioned the armor before the reports from Ostagar came in, and then I was occupied with coordinating troop movements with Cailan and Loghain-

"You got busy," she said with a laugh. "I think I can understand that a  _potential_ recruit might take second place to an  _actual_  Blight in your priorities,  _Commander_."

He chuckled. "Well, yes, this is true. I had commissioned Owen with the original timeline to arrive in Denerim on your twenty-second birthday, as a matter of fact." Her steps faltered, but she managed to hide her momentary lapse with some quick footwork, but it was clear he'd noticed when he asked quietly, "Did you think I did not know? I may not have met you before the day of your wedding, but Adaia... yes, I would consider her a good friend, as much as circumstances allowed. Were she not so happy with her family, I would have pursued her entry into the Wardens. As for your armor, it seems that you received the armor on that day regardless." He looked at her with a smile on his face. "I could wish for better circumstances, of course, but I hope this birthday is rather more pleasant than others you have had, Kalindra."

 _So he knows_ when _Mother was murdered, too._  She didn't answer; her throat tight with emotion - the same emotion that had driven her high into the foliage last night. This shem... this  _man_... how had he so quickly seemed to assume a place her own father had abandoned long ago?

Luckily she was saved by the call of the sentry at the gate, and Duncan immediately became the Warden Commander as she withdrew behind a protective mask of calm. Even if Duncan were somehow different from those shems who seemed to think elves were little more than their own personal playthings, they were going to meet an Arl. Since she'd already dealt with the spawn of another Arl, she held low expectations for this one.

In the end, Duncan went in to meet with Eamon alone, leaving her at loose ends. She'd been shown to what was obviously a waiting room and left to her own devices, and spent a good few minutes struggling with her larcenous tendencies every time her gaze lit upon something she knew that Slim would be able to get a good return on. She finally gave in and checked the drawers on the desk in the room, finding little but papers and used quills and ink. Just as she went to close the last drawer, however, an oddity caught her attention.

Reaching into the depths of the bottom drawer, she pulled out the necklace that had been shoved into the. Standing up so she would have better light, she ran a practiced finger over the cracked and shattered surface.  _Who would keep a broken Rose of Andraste?_  She recognized the workmanship of the piece; in pristine condition, Roses of Andraste were of moderate value, if for nothing else than the fact that they dated back to the time of the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden, and had come to represent those who had once served Orlais but changed their alliance to Ferelden. She smiled as she remembered Slim's face when he'd told her the history of the pieces: so serious, so earnest, so devout. She'd teased him that he should have been an archivist for the Chantry, and he'd only sighed in return.

 _Still,_ why _is this here? It must have emotional meaning, since in its current condition it's worthless._ She started to lean over to put it back where she'd found it, but she heard soft footsteps approaching. Quickly she pushed the drawer back home with her foot as she slipped the amulet down the neck of her armor, bereft of a better alternative, and quickly moved away from the desk just as the door opened.

"Oh!" A small boy stood at the doorway, watching her with startled eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were cleaning in here." Before she could correct him, he frowned and said, "But cleaning ladies don't wear armor." His eyes lit up. "Oh, oh! Are you here with the Wardens? I heard that Father is talking with their Commander!"

She laughed and walked to him, kneeling before him so their heads would be level. "I am indeed with the Wardens. I take you are the Arl's son?" It was oddly difficult to say, but he was such a bright boy, and smiling from ear to ear, that she couldn't resist engaging with him. "My name is Kalindra." She held out her hand.

To her surprise, he took it in a very courtly fashion and bowed over it. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady Kalindra. You may call me Ser Connor." He brought her gloved hand to his lips, stopping just shy of actually touching it, and kissed the air over it. "You bring a bit of brightness to my day with your mere presence." Abruptly he blushed and withdrew his hand, then looked up at her shyly. "I've been practicing for my first visit to the King's Court. Was that all right?"

She grinned. "I'm sure you'll steal the heart of every lady you meet."

Again the blush, but she was pleased to note that he returned the grin. "So if you're a Warden, do you get to ride a griffon? I'd love to ride a griffon!"

If she were less familiar with children, she would have blinked at the change of topic. However, as the one that people had often gone to for babysitting duties in the Alienage - when she wasn't dancing along the Thieves' Highway at Slim's behest, of course - she was well acquainted with the mercurial shifts of mood and lightning changes of topic of which children were capable. "Ah, no. I don't think you get one anymore."

"Awwwww..." This piece of news seemed to be singularly disappointing to him, and she didn't even know how to reassure him.  _Griffon? What is a griffon?_  As if in answer to her thought, he grabbed her hand and tugged her into the hall and directly to another door. "Come on, I want to read about griffons with a real Warden! We've got a book with the best pictures in the world!" She allowed herself to be dragged along behind him, wondering what it must be like to be the son of the local lord and always apart from the other children.  _Would it make you believe in your own inherent superiority and view others as only your playthings for your own pleasure?_  She shuddered violently enough that her hand was pulled from his grasp, and froze as, once again, her mind's eye saw only a sneer beneath a crop of red hair and cruel green eyes.

"Kalindra?" a voice came to her, and she was vaguely aware of a hand tugging at her hand. "Lady Warden, are you all right?"

As if stretching across a great chasm, she reached for that small voice, to that increasingly insistent tug, and  _pulled_ , fighting the pain and the fear and the need to stay in her  _safe place_ , until finally she was able to squeeze back and whisper, "I'm fine, Connor."

"What happened?" he asked. "Was it something I said? I'm sorry, I thought you might like to see the pretty pictures." He sounded almost on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry."

She took a deep breath, noticing one of the guards at the end of the hall was looking at them and obviously debating whether to investigate further. Shaking her head, she knelt in front of him and instinctively drew him into a tight embrace. She couldn't tell him the truth - that just by  _being_  an Arl's son, he had triggered a memory in her that she still could not fully acknowledge, must less deal with - but she  _could_  tell him, without words, that he hadn't done anything  _wrong_. "I'm fine. It wasn't anything you did." She rubbed a hand up and down his back until he relaxed completely, then let him go. "Everything all right?"

He nodded, but his little forehead furrowed. "I think so, but... what happened?"

"Sometimes..." How to explain it to such an innocent child? "Sometimes, nightmares don't wait for the sun to set."

His eyes widened, and he looked around anxiously, then tugged her hand towards the door. "Come on, I want to show you the book!" His voice was unnecessarily loud, though, and she wondered if he'd noticed the guard, too.

Once they were in the room behind the door, he turned to her. His body had become tense again,  _rigid,_  almost, and he whispered, so soft she almost couldn't hear him, "I'm not the only one?"

Now truly worried, she put a hand on his shoulder and said, "What?"

"Sometimes... sometimes I... I hear things,  _see_ things, and... and make things happen that... well, they must be nightmares, mustn't they? Mother-" Suddenly he gasped. "Oh, no, I promised Mother I wouldn't tell anyone." He took her hand and gazed up at her pleadingly. "Promise you won't tell? Promise?"

She frowned as she again knelt before him, grateful that the armor was so well made as to allow such movement without discomfort. "I promise, Connor, though I'm not sure what I would tell them. You... haven't been hurt by anyone, have you?" The thought of a  _child_  being exposed to anything like what she had gone through... She felt her face harden, and quickly softened her expression. "Your Mother-"

"No, no, no," he said quickly, but still quietly. "She loves me, more than anything. Nobody's hurt me, it's just... sometimes I have a nightmare when no one's around, and when I wake up... the ground's cracked, or covered with ice, or... once a pillow was ripped. One time... I had a nightmare around Mother, and she was so scared..." His eyes were wide, vulnerable. "I... I shouldn't have told you, I really shouldn't have. Mother said she would take care of it. She said she's found someone who will help me get rid of the nightmares; he's supposed to get here any day now."

"It's okay, really, Connor," she replied, keeping her voice low. "Sometimes it's hard to keep things inside, and you have to tell  _someone._  I won't tell anyone, I promise." She nodded. "And if your Mother says she's going to help you, then she will. That's what mothers do: protect their children." Her hand tightened around his. "No matter the cost," she whispered.

The tension in him lessened greatly as he considered her words with a serious mien. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."  _Even if the cost is their lives._  "No matter what."

And, just like that, he became the child he truly was, a smile breaking through like the sun through a cloud. "I like you. Can I show you the pictures now?" Without waiting for an answer, he tugged her to a table and chairs near a bookcase and pushed her into a chair, then turned to retrieve a book.

And that was where Duncan found her, bent over a large book and leafing through its well-loved pages as Connor prattled endlessly about the minute differences he'd found between the various illustrations, impressing Kalindra more and more with the quickness and versatility of his mind. It wasn't until she heard Duncan clear his throat that she was even aware they had an audience, and she glanced up to see Duncan and another man with greying hair and beard next to him, both men smiling as they watched the pair. "It's time to go, Kalindra."

"Father!" Book forgotten, Connor pushed himself out of the chair and dashed to the unknown man - obviously Arl Eamon - and hugged him fiercely. "Are you free? Can we play now?"

Kalindra felt a prickling at the back of her eyes as she fought the urge to cry, remembering when she'd done that with her own father... and the day that that closeness had come to an end. Carefully she closed the book and returned it to its place as behind her Eamon replied, "As you wish, but only for a little while. The Grey Wardens-"

As she turned and walked to them, Connor released his father and turned to Duncan. "Are you the Warden Commander? Duncan?"

"That I am, young man. May I say it is a pleasure to finally meet you? Your father speaks of you with great pride and affection."

Connor ducked his head, looking up only when Kalindra finally moved close enough to enter his vision. Suddenly he grinned and bowed to Duncan. "I'd like to report that Grey Warden Kalindra is a credit to your Order, Commander."

She saw the sparkle of good humor in Duncan's eyes. "I had suspected that already, but it is good to hear it from such an impeccable source. I am sure she will go far in our ranks."

He nodded vigorously, seemingly recovered from his shyness, then looked a bit wistful. "Does she have to go now?"

Both men chuckled, and Eamon reached down and rifled his hand through his son's hair. "Yes, the Wardens have a Blight to attend to, remember? Come, let's go see if Valena or your mother are free."

The boy grinned at this suggestion, and Eamon leveled a look at Duncan. "You will communicate my concerns to Calian? I simply don't see the forces of Loghain and Urien alone to be sufficient, even with Bryce's troops soon to arrive. I can get my troops and my knights there within two weeks once I have the word, but he must send that word."

Duncan immediately turned serious. "I shall. We won't reach Ostagar for at least a week, but I will bring it up as soon as I as I may."

Kalindra kept silent. Duncan she trusted, but Eamon... well, her comfort had vanished when he'd turned from  _father_  to  _Arl_ , and now she just wanted to be away from him, out of this castle, and away from all the unfamiliar shems that filled this place. As Connor at that point piped in with a demand to be on their way, she quickly got her wish as Eamon exchanged a final handshake with Duncan and gave her a bare nod, then left, Connor talking up a storm that echoed down the hall for a while.

Kalindra didn't speak much as they left the Castle and picked up the now-finished daggers from Owen, though she did murmur a quiet, sincere thanks to him as she hefted them. Whatever he had done to the daggers he'd pulled from the box beneath his floor had been exactly what was necessary for someone of her size to use them. She recognized silverite when she saw it, a far cry from the simple steel of her prized daggers brought from Denerim. Even as she weighed the metal in her grip, the thief in her tried to tally the value of such fine workmanship. Her new armor was solid and well crafted, but no Wade's Special. The daggers, on the other hand, were as finely made and customized as anything that she'd seen in Denerim. She spared a moment to look at Owen, wondering how a smith of his calibre had come to be in a small village outside Redcliffe Castle, but forbore from asking. Just because he was a smith didn't mean he was  _safe._

She'd never been so happy to see the road as she was once they got out of Redcliffe. Connor had been a welcome part of the trip, but she still wasn't comfortable being around so many strangers. The occasional glances that Duncan sent her way hinted that he understood, but he said nothing.

The next day saw him pushing her, forcing her to push herself. The days settled into a routine, each much like the last. Mornings were devoted to training sessions with Duncan in which she came to further appreciate Owen's craft. Midday and afternoon involved endless walking, pushing forward until she practically dropped in place from exhaustion. Nights meant retreating to the safety of the trees as she fought an enemy that Duncan could not aid her against: her own fears. She learned little more of him personally, but he did insist after the first night that she spend dinner with him in conversation rather than silently staring into the fire before seeking her elevated bed. To her fascination, the dialogue quickly turned into education as he taught her some of the history of the Grey Wardens and past Blights.

She noticed something else, as well. The closer they got to Ostagar, the more he began to distance himself, at least emotionally. The training sessions increased in intensity as he probed her physical recovery, forcing her to acknowledge her own health. While she did feel her speed and skills improving under his tutelage, the praise and compliments of before became sparser until finally he would only nod his head at the end of each session and comment, "There is still room for improvement." Spontaneous conversation decreased in frequency, although he was pushing them hard enough that she wouldn't have noticed save that he still kept throwing her those odd little glances, and  _those_  increased in frequency the closer they got to Ostagar. She even noticed the change in his dinner conversations, as the tone changed from  _sharing_  to  _lecture_ , and she stopped lingering even a moment once the  _lecture_  was done, retreating into the canopy above until it was her turn to take over the watch.

The uncertainty caused by his apparent withdrawal was almost as difficult to accept and assimilate as the almost panic that had come over her when she'd started to see him as a father figure. She retreated into herself, offering little in terms of dialogue, and restricting her responses to him to monosyllables and gestures. Each day, the need to see Daveth grew, and when Duncan finally announced that they would arrive at Ostagar the next day, she breathed a sigh of relief without realizing it, then immediately felt an obscure sense of guilt.

The man didn't seem to notice as he continued, "I've outlined as much as I can about the current Blight, barring information we will receive once we arrive at the encampment at Ostagar, but for the most part you will be spending time with the other Grey Wardens there." For the first time in several days, he looked her directly in the eye with some of the humanity that had been there earlier. "And they are all male humans."

She'd expected that, but a little  _frisson_  crept up her spine even so. Each night had been a struggle to accept it and prepare for it, an inner fight that had left her feeling drained and nauseous every morning, a condition that only vigorous exercise seemed to ameliorate. "I understand. I can handle it."  _As long as there are trees nearby, at any rate._  "And Daveth will be there, so there will be at least one familiar face."

"This is true. And the Grey Wardens will accept you without question. The camp is comprised of multiple forces, however, and most of them are not as inclined towards judging on merit alone."

She snorted, suddenly realizing what he was getting at. "I grew up in an Alienage, Commander. I think I know what to expect once I get there. I may not  _like_  it, but..." She frowned. "Wait a minute. I'll be a Grey Warden - a recruit, but still under their auspices. Can I-?" she trailed off, not sure how to say  _beat their ass into the ground at the first mention of knife-ear_  in polite terms.

"I encourage it," he said simply, then frowned when she stumbled. "Ah, time to stop for the night, I believe."

Once camp was set and dinner prepared, she took her bowl and settled next to the fire, curious what he would discuss on this, their last night alone together. To her surprise, he picked up his portion without settling down nearby. "I'll take the watch for the entire night. I... have much to think about, and I think it best you are fully rested when we arrive tomorrow."

The offer caught her off-guard, but she nodded in response, accepting his decision. It was obvious he wished to be alone with his thoughts, so she watched as he wordlessly moved to a boulder on the edge of the firelight and began to slowly work through his meal.

She set her bowl aside, suddenly not hungry as her stomach roiled with nerves. Instead of immediately retreating to a tree, however, she moved to sit next to the small spring adjacent to their site, grateful for the trees that overlay it.

Quickly she stripped down and rushed into the water, heart beating fast as it always did when she was exposed, and scoured her skin and hair, eyes closed to avoid looking at herself. It was a balance between awareness of what was around her, and a reminder of what had come before, and she preferred ignorance of the past to that of the moment. Once she'd counted off five terrifying minutes in her head, she rinsed her hair clean of the soapstone's suds and slunk out of the water, quickly toweling off and pulling her clothes onto her still-wet body.

Only then did she crouch, motionless, in the shadows of a nearby tree and curl up tightly around her knees as she panted and shivered, struggling with the unreasoning fear that gripped her every time air touched her breasts. That sense that someone was  _watching_  refused to go away, nor did the phantom laughter recede in her head, but at least she no longer sobbed immediately afterwards as she had on the way to Redcliffe on those few occasions she'd forced herself to wash fully.

As always, though, even right after cleansing her body, she still felt dirty. Worthless.  _Used._

And so she sat, motionless, as she waited for the sensations to pass. Taking her armor in her arms, she ventured to the main campsite so she could take the armor kit from the shared bag and work on ensuring her armor looked as good as the day she'd received it for her presentation to her new family tomorrow.

The activity would distract her, at least. After all, she always expected the worst to occur, now.


	6. Discomfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After arriving in Ostagar, Kalindra is uneasy about the prospect of meeting her fellow Grey Wardens.

 

* * *

Mama! Mama!  _I cry as I run through the door._  There's new people in the Alienage!

 _She laughs and picks me up to twirl me in a great circle._ I know, little fox. I saw them this morning. Did you meet the little girl that came with them?

 _Suddenly shy, I look down bashfully._ N-no, _I admit._ Shianni and Soris did, though. _Because they know how to talk to new people._

 _Mother senses my hesitation and brings me in for a hug._ Now, little fox, I know you're bolder than that. How will you meet new friends if you let Soris and Shianni do all the talking for you?

 _Burying my head in the crook of her neck, I hide the blush on my cheeks._ Don't need new friends!

 _Her hand smooths my hair, before she lowers me to the ground._ New friends don't replace old ones, little fox. Besides, if you never meet anyone new, then you'll be forced to marry Soris, won't you?

 _I gasp, not having considered that little wrinkle in my clever plan. With a firm nod, I take her hand and lead her out of the house._ Come on! There's someone I want to meet!

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

 _Well, that meeting didn't go very well. Not thirty minutes into Ostagar, and I'm already in a tree._  She sighed and buried her head in her hands.  _Dirthamen,_ why _did that shem persist in questioning me so?_ Granted, he  _was_  the King, and the death of an Arl's son  _was_  of interest to him, but...

Her body began to shudder, and she fought against the desire to retreat into the back of her mind, forcing herself to breathe deeply and again reach across that endless chasm towards the  _real world,_ to who she'd been  _before..._

"Kalindra?" The deep voice echoed from below, bringing her more quickly back from the emptiness.

 _Duncan._  Shaking herself, she gritted her teeth for a moment before calling out, "Up here." She shifted and turned around, beginning her descent. "I'll be right down."

He didn't comment until she was back on the ground again, though once she alighted, he said, "I wish I knew how you do that so easily in full armor. There are some enemies that are likely easier to attack from above." She blinked, trying to picture something that large, but before she could pursue that distraction he gestured back towards the paved path where they had encountered the King. "Come. We must talk."

"I'm sorry," she said hurriedly. "I just- when he asked about why I'd left Denerim..."

"Yes, well, usually one does not expect to hear someone admit to killing the son of an Arl quite so baldly. Still, I will go up against Urien myself if it becomes an issue, I promise." The small wave of warmth that those words engendered in her changed back to nausea as he continued, "However, there are matters which push us into action. I wish I could give you time to acclimate to these surroundings, but based on the King's words, I do not think we have the luxury."

She took a deep breath as they reached the main path and began heading to the bridge. "I understand."

"I know you do. It is time now to reach within yourself and find the strength that enabled you to survive long enough to claim Vaughan's life and use it to endure what must be endured." He looked at her closely, as if those words had particular meaning for a Grey Warden.

"I... never looked at it that way," she admitted, wondering at the import of the words for  _him_. She remembered Asha's comments back in Dunngath, at her surprise that Kalindra had survived the initial assault and  _still_  was able to walk and fight the next day.

"It's understandable that you would wish to retreat from the memories that brought forth that strength, but it is still within you, and you shall need it now and in the days to come." His tone was mildly reproving. "I did not choose you out of pity, or merely to save your life. I believe you are fully capable of wearing the Grey Warden mantle, but you need to be willing to bear it fully, and that is something that neither I, nor anyone else, can help you with."

"I know." And she  _did_  know. She was much improved from what she had been in Dunngath, where the mere sight of a male shem unknown to her would cause her to either flee like a deer or freeze with tears running down her cheeks. Still, as he'd reminded her again and again on the road, there was always room for improvement. Her jaw firmed as her stride lengthened. "It does sound as if the odds are against us."

Duncan nodded, face grim. "Despite what the King thinks, I know there is an Archdemon behind all this. All the Grey Wardens in camp agree, but I cannot ask the king to act solely on our feelings."

"But-" Now she was confused. "In all previous Blights, you said the Grey Wardens guided the gathered forces in strategy and tactics, and were essentially the generals of the field as well as the main part of the force. Why is this not the case now?"

"Simple: all other Blights began with the Archdemon leading a horde of Darkspawn against a populated area. When there is no room for doubt, it is easier to hand the reins of power to another. But here, the Darkspawn are more cautious, more gradual in their appearance, and the Archdemon thus far has remained out of sight." He sighed and shook his head. "Our numbers in Ferelden are too few. We must do what we can and look to Teyrn Loghain to make up the difference, as he did at the River Dane so many years ago." He held out a hand and laid it on her arm, bringing them to a halt. "To that end, we should proceed with the Joining ritual without delay."

 _Joining ritual?_ An odd sensation sank into the base of her spine as a multitude of hints and suggestions and glances began to coalesce into  _suspicion_ , but she disregarded it for now. "Tell me what you need me to do."

He nodded, apparently satisfied with her response. "You know that you are but a recruit only, at this point, and are not a true Grey Warden. Every recruit must go through a secret ritual we call the Joining so that they may truly become part of the Order. The ritual is brief, but some preparations will be required, and must be done soon."

The suspicion finally coalesced into something she could put into words. "The Joining is dangerous, I take it? More than... oh, I don't know, slitting a wrist and mingling blood to declare an eternal bond?"

He scrutinized her closely, head to toe, face inscrutable. "In general, yes, it is dangerous. I cannot speak more of it except to say that you will learn all in good time. Until then, you must trust that what is done is necessary."

 _Trust._  She ducked her head, seeking to hide her thoughts.  _You know how difficult that is for me, Duncan._  The odd sensation at the base of her spine -  _fear_ , she now recognized - moved out and swept over her, and her nausea redoubled. Swallowing quickly and working her tongue in her mouth to avoid emptying her stomach, she nodded and met his gaze as squarely as she could manage. "So, should I find Daveth and wait with him?"  _Daveth..._ That one odd shem that she trusted even more than the one in front of her, and almost as much as Slim, though he was but half-shem by blood. Her lips settled into a smile as she thought of him, and the nausea diminished.

Her hope to see her friend soon faded when Duncan shook his head. "There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. Seek him out and tell him it's time to summon the other recruits. The ritual must occur before nightfall. Time has become of the essence here." He reached out and lay a hand on her shoulder. "I swear I gave you as much time as I had to give."

She quickly calculated the days in her head, and was shocked to realize that it had been a bit over a month since they had left Denerim. Something nagged at her, but she pushed it aside as she nodded earnestly. "I know, Duncan, and I truly appreciate it. I will do what I can to live up to your faith in me. I'll find this... Alistair?" She waited a beat for Duncan to nod before continuing. "Alistair and  _then_  Daveth." With a grin, she held up one hand, folded except for where two fingers held tightly together. "Thief's honor."

A chuckle relaxed his posture. "And that is the best honor I know." He squeezed her shoulder. "I have some business of my own to attend to, of course, but once you find Alistair and the other recruits, come to me at the Grey Wardens' Tent. Alistair will, of course, know where to find it. Good luck." And with that, he let go and headed across the bridge in a brisk walk.

Kalindra watched him go, fighting the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach as she realized that, for the first time, she would need to talk to a shem without Daveth or Duncan present to aid her. Her stomach finally rebelled too strenuously to contain, and she ran into the bushes, her stomach quickly emptying itself of her spare lunch.

 _Wonderful. Not even an hour in Ostagar, and I can barely stomach the thought of working with another Grey Warden. Pull yourself_ together, _little fox._ Pulling the small bladder of water from her belt, she quickly rinsed her mouth a few times until the taste of bile was completely gone.  _Alistair. Right._

Standing, she squared her shoulders as if to go to war, unconsciously checking the set of her blades, and grateful that her new armor covered her almost entirely. Only her scarred face emerged from under armor and hair to face the world.  _Safe. As safe as I can make it._

Hopefully, it would be enough.

.~^~.

Walking through the camp was moment after moment of uncertainty. For every guard that spoke to her with respect and instantly recognized her as a Grey Warden recruit, there was another who would peremptorily order her to go fetch them something. Granted, the first time someone called her a 'knife-eared wench', the blade had come out and been pressed to a startled shem's throat, but a flurry of activity had led to an apology from both parties and a respectful distance held from her as word spread through the camp, apparently faster than sound should be able to travel. She took an obscure satisfaction, even if said gossip didn't seem to draw out Daveth as she'd secretly hoped.

Still, finding Alistair was oddly difficult. She'd asked three different people, and been pointed in three different directions. At least the Chantry sister had remembered actually seeing him heading north, apparently on an errand from the resident Reverend Mother. With a sigh, she trudged off in the indicated direction, deliberately narrowing her focus so she wouldn't notice anything that would break her current calm. After she'd climbed some stairs in this confusing ruin with no real roofs and few climbable trees, though, she stopped to re-orient herself, fighting down the growing frustration.

" _Kalindra?"_

Surprised by the familiar voice, she turned to where it had come from and felt her jaw drop before a smile settled on her face.  _"Nessa?"_  With a whoop, she ran to the elf standing next to a large table and exchanged an enthusiastic hug with her, then held her at arm's length. "Why are you in  _Ostagar_ , of all places? I thought your father was set on Highever after that shem sold the building you lived in." A little  _too_ set, as Kalindra recalled, but then Nessa's father had always been determined to make his own way in the world, rejecting even Cyrion's offer of aid.

"He was – but after we left Denerim, the trade caravan we were with decided they could make more money here in Ostagar, and Father decided it was wiser to continue traveling with them than to strike out for Highever on our own." Nessa grimaced. "It hasn't been easy, exactly, but at least it hasn't been as bad as I was afraid it would be."

Kalindra nodded in sympathy. She remembered the fears her friend had expressed before leaving Denerim, particularly that the soldiers in the army here would be so desperate for women that they'd take advantage of those who were least able to object to their attention. "I'm glad for that, at least, though it means another long journey for you once the war's done."

"Well, we've all managed to make ourselves useful. It may not be quite as much as the merchants made, but at least we'll be able to pay for a place in a caravan when we leave. Who knows, maybe we'll go to Gwaren once this is done. Surely Teyrn Loghain will send some of his forces home? They'll need servants, I'm sure." Nessa smiled nervously. "Not all the shems here are horrid. Just… just some of them." Shaking her head quickly, she seemed to finally  _see_ Kalindra as she stepped back a bit and looked her up and down. Her eyes widened as she gently cupped Kalindra's chin in her hand. "Maker, Kal, what happened?" She started to reach up to touch Kalindra's face, stopping when her friend abruptly pulled away from the gentle curiosity.

Forcing her gaze back to Nessa, Kalindra shook her head, mouth dry and fighting the urge to heave. "Things… things didn't go as planned," she said quietly. When it was obvious Nessa wanted to ask more questions, she held up a hand to ward them off. "There were complications, Nessa. I'm… I'm not ready to talk about it, not yet." Her eyes pleaded when her voice broke, asking for the favor of  _later._

After a moment of consideration, Nessa nodded slowly. "All right." She considered Kalindra a moment more, though, a frown still on her face. "So you're here to fight? I haven't yet seen an elf in armor here, now that I think about it. Some women shems with Milord Cousland's forces, but that's about it. Unless…" Suddenly her face grew awed. "You… You're that Grey Warden recruit that the Wardens have been whispering about, aren't you? I mean, not that we spy or anything…" Her face grew a tad sheepish.

"You're servants. Of  _course_ you eavesdrop," Kalindra said, letting the tone lighten, as uncomfortable with awe in an old friend as she had been with the thought of trying to explain what had happened in Denerim. "It's the only way to learn what we need to, so don't feel guilty about it."

Nessa chuckled. "Yes, I suppose you're right. But that  _is_  you, isn't it?" Her smile widened. "Maker, a Grey Warden! Good enough reason to leave Denerim, I'd say, even if you did have a groom all picked out for you. Decided to choose your own fate, then?"

"You could say that," Kalindra said, forcing her face to stay relaxed.  _If only you knew…_  "It was a difficult offer to refuse." Before Nessa could say anything else, Kalindra quickly added, "In fact, I'm looking for one of them right now. Do you know where I can find the Warden called Alistair?"

Suppressing whatever questions had been about to emerge, Nessa nodded and pointed behind Kalindra. "Actually, yes. He came through here not too long ago with a mage. They were talking, but neither one of them looked happy. He's got dark blond hair, if that helps," she offered.

Kalindra turned and noticed some stairs in the shadow that had escaped her notice before. "Thank you," she said to Nessa. "Maybe once I'm settled, we can talk some more."

"I'd like that!" Nessa said brightly, her smile back. "Good luck!"

With a final parting wave, Kalindra turned and headed to the stairs, letting the forced smile fall away from her face as she did so. Her stomach churned, and when she reached the stairs, she paused to take several deep calming breaths. The conversation with Nessa had done nothing but highlight further just how much her life had changed… how much  _she_  had been changed, and in such a relatively short span of time. Though not as intimate a friend as Shianni, Nessa had been a good friend to her since they were children, and it pained her to see how different their worlds were now. More than any other occurrence, it had driven home the fact that she could never achieve her dreams, the secret little clouds of happiness and hope inside that had kept her going even beyond her mother's death and through her father's withdrawal. The frustration at her inability to hold a simple conversation with an old friend, and the dread that arose whenever she contemplated even a short conversation with a strange shem, gnawed at her, and she tightened her hands into fists as she fought down the panic that started to overwhelm her as she thought about meeting this Alistair.

Closing her eyes, she did as Duncan had advised: reached deep within, looking for the strength that had allowed her to take Vaughan's life, even after all he'd done to crush her spirit. As odd a technique as it was, it  _did_  serve to calm her, and with a final breath, she opened her eyes and headed up the stairs. Apparently she wasn't the only one feeling frustrated, as indicated by the raised voices that reached her ears as she ascended. Following the sound of the argument, she found two people engaged in a rather tense conversation. Still, one of them  _was_  a warrior – with dark blond hair, just as Nessa had said.  _Finally,_  she thought hopefully.

It was clear that whatever they were talking about didn't agree with either of them, particularly the man in the mage's robe. The man in armor seemed to be simply glibly responding to whatever objections the mage kept bringing up, and by the time she'd gotten close enough to actually hear what was being discussed, the first words she heard were, "I was even going to name one of my children after you. The  _grumpy_ one."

She blinked and double-checked his gear.  _No, sword and shield, and not two daggers. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought it was Daveth. That sounds like something he'd say to annoy someone._

The mage made a dismissive gesture. "Very well. I will speak to the woman if I must." Turning, he stormed away from the man, and almost bumped into Kalindra where she'd come to a halt nearby. "Get out of my way,  _fool_."

Somehow Kalindra refrained herself from tripping him, though it was a close thing.  _Remember what Slim always said: treat mages with caution, or be treated with a poultice._  With a small shrug, she turned her attention back to the shem, who had taken the opportunity to walk towards her. A goofy grin was on his face as he said, "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together."

 _This is a Grey Warden?_  Well,  _possibly_  a Grey Warden. Still, it was an... odd statement. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Oh, nothing. Just trying to find a bright side to all this." When she continued to regard him dubiously, he added, "Wait, we haven't met, have we? I don't suppose you're another mage."

"Of  _course_  I'm not-" She bit back the rest of the sentence. "And I don't suppose you're Alistair?" she returned.

He blinked. "Ah, yes, I am. Did Duncan mention me? Nothing bad, I hope."

She narrowed her eyes, almost tempted to walk around him to make sure someone else wasn't feeding him lines to use. The marked similarity to Daveth was uncanny. "No, nothing bad. He just sent me to tell you that-"

"-it's time to start preparing for the ritual. Which means that, if I'm not mistaken, you're the new recruit that Duncan wrote to us about. His letter spoke quite highly of you, you know. Kal-" He coughed, obviously embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten the name."

He looked so sheepish, she relented. "Kalindra."

"Right, that's the name." He chuckled and hit the side of his head as if to knock a memory loose. "There. Won't lose it again." His eyes swept over her. She  _knew_  he was just evaluating her, possibly comparing what he saw with whatever it was that Duncan had written, but the look still made her heart beat faster with the faint hint of terror. Unconsciously she looked to her left, so that his only view of her face would be completely covered by her hair. "I'm curious," he said, "have you ever actually encountered darkspawn before?"

The question startled her enough to look back at him. "What? No, never. I mean, Duncan's told me of the different types, of course, and tried to describe them." She shuddered. "I'm not looking forward to that first combat, I'll admit. I'm not afraid to fight, but he made them sound so... horrid."

Alistair nodded soberly. "They are. Words can't do them justice, really. When I fought my first one, I wasn't prepared for how monstrous it was." He shuddered a tad theatrically, then grinned at her. "Though from Duncan's description of you, it sounds as if you'll just need to show up and flourish your blades, and they'll run off into the Wilds in despair."

She couldn't help it; she giggled, turning her head away from him again, though that wouldn't completely hide her mouth and the smile he'd elicited. "I hardly think it will be that easy."

"No, I suppose not," he sighed. "Still, one can always hope." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, refusing to let him see her blush, and caught his eyes on her again. "You know, it just occurred to me that there have never been many women in the Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is?"

The blush quickly faded, along with her smile, as she shifted even further away from his scrutiny. "Duncan said that you were to help me find the other two recruits and then take us to him. Do you know where they are?" She knew her tone was harsher than his words deserved, but it was the only way to ensure her voice didn't waver.

He seemed a bit startled at the sudden change in tone, but shrugged and nodded. "I know what they both look like, so it shouldn't be too hard to find them." He hesitated a moment. "If you have any questions, you can ask me." It was just the lightest of reproaches, but she ignored it as she continued to avoid his gaze. "All right, let's go."

She turned from him fully and headed back the way she'd come, unwilling to talk with him anymore. Deep down she felt a bit guilty at the strength of her reaction, but... she just didn't want him to think of her as anything but another Grey Warden, the way that Duncan seemed to think of her. Anything else... was unthinkable. Daveth,  _maybe_ , once she'd dealt with-

As if the thought had pulled him out of the air, she heard a familiar voice coming up from the bottom of the first set of stairs she'd taken to reach Alistair, whose footsteps still followed after her. "So, any last wishes I can help fulfill before you head into battle?"

A smirk settled onto her lips.  _That was Daveth, all right._  Even after they'd become lovers, he had continued to be a shameless flirt with the other thieves that fit his requirements, which, as far as she could tell, included owning a pair of tits and an ass he could grab. Oddly, it never bothered her. For one thing, he really wasn't very  _good_  at it - as he demonstrated when he added, "Life is fleeting, you know. That pretty face could be decorating some darkspawn spear come this time tomorrow."

_Oh, Daveth, you couldn't flirt your way into the Pearl._

Still, his oddly endearing charm was in the things he  _didn't_  say: the way he'd let her set the course of their relationship once she'd finally offered him a kiss the first time; the way that, on those few occasions that his flirting actually elicited a surprising  _yes_  from the other party, he would always politely demur; the way that he'd proudly wrap his arm around her whenever they were in Slim's Den in a way that told everyone in Slim's crew that he'd lucked out with the best of the lot; and, of course, the way his very agile tongue proved to be far better at activities that didn't involve  _words._

As she moved down the stairs, she followed the sound of his voice, not at all surprised to find him speaking with a rather pretty soldier with a cold glare on her face. Kalindra stopped a small distance behind him as he concluded, "Shall I take that quiet glare as a no? Ahhh, well, too bad."

Alistair arrived at her side as the woman turned and walked away. "Ah, yes, Daveth," he observed, an almost puzzled tone in his lowered voice. "He's the cutpurse Duncan conscripted. Not sure what Duncan sees in him, to be honest."

Not a statement to get on Kalindra's good side, though the warrior knew it not. Instead of correcting his misconception, she impatiently waved Alistair to remain still and stealthily moved up behind Daveth, slipping her fingers around his purse strings and tugging slightly.

He whipped around instantly, hand moving to his precious purse and stopping when he saw whose hand was attached to it. "Kal?" he said, surprised at first. When she responded with a mischievous grin, he repeated, "Kal!" and, with a loud laugh, picked her up at the waist and spun her in a circle. "Maker, you're a sight for sore eyes!" Before she could react, he brought her in close for a deep kiss, but she stiffened, not ready for  _that_.

He felt the reaction and immediately put her down, abashed. "Sorry. I just-"

"No, it's all right, really." Her hands tightened around his arms as she fought down the racing pulse and growing nausea that had become her standard response around men, particularly male shems. Naturally, the light-headedness of being flung around like a Satinalia lantern hadn't helped either, but at least with Daveth, she knew she would never truly come to harm. "I'll be fine." She reached up and laid a hand on his face. "It's good to see you again, truly it is."

"I've missed you, Kal," he said sincerely. "And I've been worrying about you almost constantly." His eyes moved over her face. "You do look beautiful, but that's nothing new. Is that new armor? And daggers? My, my, what would ol' Slim think now, to see you all kitted up like a noble yourself?"

He grinned as she slammed her open palm on his chest. "You. Just...  _you_.  _Incorrigible."_

He bowed theatrically, taking her hand and kissing the air above it noisily. "Now that's hardly fair, little lady, as you know I cannot return in kind."

Their antics were interrupted by a pointed clearing of a throat. " _If_  we could get back to business?" They turned to Alistair, Kalindra biting her lip a bit guiltily since she'd honestly forgotten he was even  _there_. "Since it's so obvious you know each other, why didn't you just tell me?" The question was mostly directed at her, the tone a trifle accusatory.

"Ah, little lady, did you not tell Alistair of our secret past? I'm crushed." Daveth winked at her. "Don't worry, I kept our tragic love a deep, dark mystery."

"Love?" Alistair said incredulously. "With  _Daveth?"_

Kalindra sighed. "No, we don't have  _that_ kind of relationship. We're just... friends.  _Good_ friends."

"Good friends. Riiiiight." He still sounded dubious, eyes moving back and forth between them, then shrugged. "Well, it's none of my business. Come on, let's go find Jory."

This time Alistair took the lead, heading up the stairs behind her. As Kalindra turned to follow him, she felt Daveth's hand reach out and gently take hers.

She didn't push him away, this time.  _Small steps get you to your goal as well as large ones._  Another saying that Slim always used, but in this case, it seemed... appropriate.


	7. Cooperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kalindra ventures into the Korcari Wilds as ordered to gather the Darkspawn blood, hopefully without spilling that of her companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta readers, Mille Libri and HereThereBeDragons!

 

__

* * *

Did not!

Did  _too!_

 _I glare at Shianni and cross my arms over my chest._ Did not!

Did too! _she fires back, hair gleaming bright red in the light of the sunset._  I left it right here when I went inside to get some water, and now it's gone!

 _Rolling my eyes, I snort loudly._ If I took it, don't you think I'd still have it?

 _A blink of confusion tells me the answer._ Oh.  _Shuffling her feet awkwardly, she mumbles,_ I didn't think of that.

_Her head snaps around as we both hear it, a giggle from the other side of the Tree's trunk. We run around it and catch a glimpse of Soris as he dashes into the alley, the toy Mabari in his hand. We both hear his laughter as he looks over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner._

_We exchange a glance, and I grin._ Truce?

 _She nods, then dashes towards the alley._ Come on! We can't let him get away!

   

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

   

Flanking the last wolf of the pack, she sank her blade into its haunch as Alistair thrust his sword into its chest. The wolf - the largest, and likely the leader of the pack - wheezed and finally collapsed, twitching a few times before lying completely still.

The breaths of the little group of Grey Warden hopefuls and their warrior guide rang in the clearing as they took a moment to recover from the attack of the wolf pack. Kalindra pulled her blade from the wolf, wiped it on the cloth hanging from her belt, and slammed it home, looking around her in disgust. "Such a waste," she muttered. Wolf pelts of this quality would fetch a pretty price in Denerim, and instead she had to leave them to molder under the sun in these wastelands. She glanced at her companions, face neutral, and made sure they weren't the worse for wear due to the long, if simple, fight.

"Everyone all right?" Alistair asked as he cleaned his own blade and reset it into his scabbard. "Wolves don't normally attack people like this, so I can only assume the taint is starting to affect the local wildlife. Best to keep alert."

She nodded, knowing the truth of the lesson from her time traveling with Duncan. "I'll take point," she said as she moved past the warrior. "I heard those wolves before anyone else."  _And that way I can run if—_ She stopped that thought before it finished, realizing that she was still having difficulty thinking of either Alistair or Jory as  _safe_. With a sigh, she stopped and turned back to look at the three men behind her, remembering her promise to Duncan to face her fears. A steady breath let her nod towards them. "Sorry. I didn't mean to just… take over."

Alistair shrugged. "The Grey Wardens don't stand too much on ceremony. I will say, though, that we should stay close together, and not just because of the wolves." He glanced around. "Darkspawn have a tendency to appear seemingly from nowhere. I've seen an entire squad of scouts taken out in less than a minute because they weren't prepared." He glanced at Jory when the man groaned. "Don't worry, that's why I'm here. Wardens can sense Darkspawn before they appear. Enough to give us a fighting chance, anyway." He shifted his shield and sword. "Between them and the wolves, this is likely to be an unpleasant little excursion."

"And on that lovely note, maybe we should press forward? A moving target  _is_  harder to hit, after all." Daveth had reflexively unsheathed his daggers and started looking around, including down. "I'd hate to be standing here looking too tempting when there's work to be done."

Kalindra nodded and started into motion again. She didn't draw her blades yet, but she  _did_  settle into the mindset she usually reserved for the riskiest marks back in Denerim: every sound, every movement at the corner of her eye, every  _smell_  became significant until she could explain it. In this trance of awareness, she advanced across the soft ground.

A delicate scent suddenly filled her nose, and she paused, tilting her head slightly to try to pinpoint the source. Amidst the dank stink of the Wilds which permeated the air around them like a miasma, the fragrance was a rare beauty that reminded her more than anything else of Denerim - more specifically, of her mother and their short journeys beyond the walls of the city to pick blossoms in untamed fields. Flowers were inextricably wrapped up with her mother, with her early training, with the Creators: with everything that had been good in her life before her mother's death. She looked around the swamp, searching for anything out of the ordinary, and spotted a lone patch of white not fifty yards distant.

With a quick nod, she changed her trajectory to take her to the white spot. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand reached out from the weeds and grasped her ankle. Her blades were out and flashing in the sun towards the source before she felt strong hands grab her wrists. "Kalindra! That's no monster!"

Her fear of the hand on the ground switched to panic at being grabbed, and she bucked wildly, her hysteria changing blond-brown hair to red, hazel eyes to green. Before she knew it, the man was flat on the ground with a blade pressed against his throat, and only Daveth's voice broke through to stop her.

" _Kal!"_

She came back to herself all at once, and the taunting sneer suddenly melted into a furious frown, the hair full of mud but certainly not red.  _Alistair._ Alistair _, and not Vaughan at all._ "Maker's breath, recruit, what in the Void is wrong with you?" he demanded.

Her hand trembled, but the dagger withdrew, returned to her sheath in an instant. "I thought you were something else," she said curtly, unwilling to say more on the matter. Wanting to get  _away_ from him yet unable to trust her trembling knees to do so with speed, she rose slowly from her position, using her hair to hide her face from his anger.

Ser Jory had made his loud way to them, standing by awkwardly as she stumbled to her feet and backed away. Obviously unsure of what to make of the situation, he held his hand out to Alistair, who grasped it and pulled himself up, still glaring fiercely at Kalindra. "That's not good battle behavior, recruit," he said acidly. "Get it under control. We can't afford mistakes around the Darkspawn, or around those we're sworn to save." Dismissing the matter - at least for the moment - he reached into the pouch at his belt and withdrew some bandages and a poultice. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to tend to the very real  _human_  you almost killed because of your Maker-bedamned reflexes."

She flushed, looking over at the cause of the problem in the first place. She saw the bloody hand attached to an even bloodier body, but the face was clearly human, and in pain. "I'm sorry," she murmured, but she knew neither Alistair nor the wounded man would hear her words.

Daveth stepped close to her, letting Jory and Alistair tend to the fallen soldier. "You all right?" he said quietly. "I seriously thought you were going to do something unfortunate to the old boy for a second there."

She looked at him. "I thought he was someone else," she whispered, knowing that he would understand.

"Oh, little lady, I am  _so_  sorry." He started to wrap his arm around her shoulders, but she flinched violently away, a hand going to her stomach as her nerves brought her nausea to the fore once more.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, then ran to the flower she'd spied earlier, somehow hoping that it would make things  _better._  Her stomach contents were again lost to her fear and her inability to  _face_ it, and she remained like that, hands on the log next to the flower, dangling over the edge, for a few moments as she struggled to get some semblance of control over her body and mind. As she heaved deep breaths, the scent of the flower found her again and filled her nose, calming her in a way nothing else could. Pushing herself to her feet, she reached out and grasped the flower, carefully picking it as her mother had taught her, and brought it to her face to inhale a bit more deliberately.

"Need I remind you that the business of a Warden does not involve stopping and smelling the flowers?" Alistair remarked from only a few feet away. "Duncan's waiting for us. We shouldn't dawdle needlessly."

When he acted like that, it was easy to forget Alistair and only see the shem. She glared at him. "The business of a Warden is to kill Darkspawn." She stalked to stand in front of him and poked a finger into his chest. "I would withhold judgment until you've seen whether or not I can do  _that._ "

He blinked in surprise, perhaps a bit taken aback by her sudden boldness, or perhaps just annoyed. It was hard to tell with him. Before he could respond in words, she marched away, carefully tucking the flower into her pouch. As she heard the sound of two armored men falling in behind her - Daveth's step being too soft to be noticeable on the squishy ground - she pulled her blades from their sheaths and moved forward, senses on high alert. When the ground trembled beneath her feet and the shem shouted a warning, she immediately threw herself to the side and away from the movement, watching in horrified fascination as they literally erupted from the ground and hissed at her and the men.

The shem was right: they were truly monstrous, truly  _monsters,_  in the most literal sense of the word. Heads with barely enough flesh to avoid being called skulls sat atop thick torsos covered with rotting armor, and grimy weapons were gripped in hands at the end of arms that seemed to be gnarled roots rather than flesh and sinew. The eyes were terrifying, empty of life and yet full of hate, and made her stomach churn anew.

And yet, they were not the worst monster she had ever encountered, merely the first ones who truly looked as evil as they were within. And she had something to prove - both to the shem and to herself.

Blades whirling, she shouted in rage and launched herself towards the Darkspawn, dancing between and around them as her erstwhile companions joined the fight, their own yells and attacks quickly gaining the attention of the hurlocks. This gave her the opportunity to feverishly work through the ranks of the genlocks, Duncan's advice going through her mind about where to strike and how to take them down quickly. Time seemed to slow as her blades whirled, always moving, always dancing, as her mother and Duncan had taught her, lost in the beauty of the dance against those who had no life to truly steal.

It was a dance they repeated many times as they progressed through the Wilds, gathering the blood as directed and then pushing towards the ruins Duncan believed held the treaties. Sometimes, in the lulls between battles, she would catch the shem regarding her with a thoughtful expression on his face, but then the ground would tremble and it would begin all over again.

Still, when they finally met the first Emissary, things became a little more desperate.

They had slowly adjusted their tactics as they worked their way across the Wilds, taking advantage of the warrior/rogue ratio they enjoyed to take down the more powerful Darkspawn before performing quick clean-up fighting against the weaker foes. Still, as they approached a bridge, Kalindra slowed and held up one bloodied weapon. "Wait."

They all stumbled to a halt. "What?" the shem snapped, though his voice was less annoyed and more tired.

"If this were Denerim, I'd start looking for traps. Look," she said, pointing to the land around them. "That bridge is the only way to proceed any further, and we haven't met a Darkspawn for..." she grinned, "at least three hundred paces."

That elicited a tired chuckle from even Jory. "Good point," Alistair conceded. "What do you think we should do?" This tone was much closer to that of the man she'd first met, and not the acerbic shem that had been her companion through most of the Wilds.

"Send a rogue ahead to scout," she said simply.

"Kal, no," Daveth objected. "A darkened warehouse is one thing, but this is outside in the middle of the day."

"And if we all walk into a fire trap?" she pointed out. Her blades were wiped rather ineffectually against the cloth on her belt and slid home before she reached under her hair to wipe at her forehead, knowing that she likely left a line of bloody grime across it. "All I want to do is check it out. No more."

"Why do you not go, Daveth?" Jory suggested. "Are you not a rogue as well?"

Daveth grimaced. "The little lady can sneak the socks off me and I wouldn't even notice. And she's much better at traps than I am. I've got my own strengths, mind, but sneaking and traps ain't it. If we're going to send someone, it should be her."

Kalindra looked to Alistair, waiting patiently for him to see reason.

He was staring with a frown at the bridge. "There  _is_ something there. Are you sure-"

"There's no other way," she said softly.

Alistair sighed. She knew the possibility of ambush was obvious even to a marmot, and Alistair, for all their personality conflicts, was no fool in battle. His sword and shield were well-cared for, and he used them with a fair amount of skill. "All right. But we're coming in at the first sign of trouble."

She nodded, then turned and began walking slowly to the bridge. Between one step and the next, she mentally reached out to the small pocket her mother had first taught to her in her youth, the pocket Adaia had only called the Shadow.  _The space between Thedas and the Beyond, a shadow that rests in both, yet neither. This is where you must dwell when you need to remain unseen, little fox._  She heard a stifled gasp - probably Jory - from behind as she seemed to fade from sight, but she remained as quiet as her skills would allow, knowing that invisible didn't mean silent.

She felt a slight tremble in the ground as she passed a small land mass, and froze. The tremble diminished, then faded completely, and she made note of the area.  _Darkspawn lying in wait, perhaps? Part of an ambush, certainly._  Slowly she set herself into motion again, approaching the bridge and kneeling a few yards away from it as she scrutinized each yard.

Traps, as she'd suspected. The entire bridge was covered with them, all sawtooth traps designed to grip and hold them in place, indicating the enemy's intention to use distance attacks. She narrowed her eyes to look at the shadowy figure at the end of the bridge, and saw that it was a hurlock, but different than all the others they'd faced. Her hands broke into a sweat as she suddenly realized why: it held a mage's staff in its hands.  _Emissary._ Duncan's lessons suddenly went through her head, as well as the admonition that an Emissary was not a foe to treat lightly, or without a mage at one's side.

Which they didn't have.

Mentally crafting a stream of profanity, she nonetheless made a mental note of its position and the number of traps in front of it, recognizing bait when she saw it, and then slowly made her way back to the waiting trio of Wardens, swinging a wide berth around the Darkspawn she'd sensed earlier. When she was a few paces away, she released the Shadow and staggered slightly. Daveth, ready for the reaction, sprang forward and caught her arms, preventing her from falling to the ground.

She shivered as the cold of extended Shadow-holding settled in, reflexively reaching up to rub at her cheeks to bring some warmth back to them.

"How did you  _do_  that?" Alistair asked, and for the first time since meeting her he sounded genuinely interested in the answer.

"Later," she said curtly. Flexing her hands to get her joints moving and the blood flowing, she nodded towards the bridge. "It's not just a trap, it's a baited trap." Quickly she detailed the situation for them, describing the hidden Darkspawn and their location, the bridge and its traps, and the Emissary that awaited them with staff in hand. "They knew we would be coming this way," she said softly. "Or that  _someone_  would, at least. We can't just run in blades swinging."

"No, that would be suicide," Alistair agreed quickly. "I may be a fool about some things, but I prefer to avoid situations that give me a severe case of death. I'd like to say it doesn't agree with me."

She looked into his eyes, and saw the same smile she'd seen the first time they met, before the shem had come out and obscured him in her eyes. Hesitantly, she returned it. "I'd like to think that death wouldn't look good on any of us."

"Not with this armor," Daveth said in a vain tone of voice. "So, what do we do?"

She didn't answer immediately, instead kneeling and poking at various rocks that littered the ground of the Wilds. She picked up a stone and hefted it, a frown on her face. "I think I have a plan," she said quietly. "It will require some tight timing and it might hurt afterwards, but we'll all survive."

Alistair shrugged. "Let's hear it out. It's safe to say that by now I trust you to do your best, and your best is pretty impressive so far."

She ducked her chin, again hiding the color on her cheeks, though this time it was not anger that called it forth. "Here's the plan."

.~^~.

As the last genlock fell, Kalindra's blades dropped from nerveless fingers, followed quickly by their wielder as she fell to her knees. Alistair did the same, as the only other combatant left standing, and they inevitably ended up leaning against each other, given the proximity they had gained towards the end of the battle.

She hesitantly reached up and touched the side of her armor, now scorched from magic, grateful that it had held against the Emissary's attack long enough for her to trip the last trap with a carefully thrown rock and exposing the bastard to the carefully timed assault from Alistair while Jory and Daveth had taken care of the Darkspawn that had indeed been waiting in ambush close to the bridge. She hadn't recognized the nature of the attack that Alistair had used against the mage-Darkspawn, but it had certainly been effective in distracting it long enough for both of them to cut it down. The free for all that had followed had been exhausting, and both Daveth and Jory had fallen before the assault was over.

The thought of Daveth hurt spurred her into reluctant motion, reaching for a potion in her pouch and frowning when she found none. Glancing at Alistair, she asked tiredly, "Got some red?"

He nodded, taking out one and handing it to her, followed by some specially treated bandages. "I saw his head take a blow," he said, not even questioning who she would check first. "I'll check on Jory. At least if  _his_  head got hit, it wouldn't hurt anything too badly."

Despite her exhaustion, a guilty giggle escaped. "That's  _horrid_ , Alistair."

"Oh, so you do know my name! I was beginning to wonder." He winced as her smile faded. "Sorry, that was unkind." He grimaced. "Look, maybe we can table any discussion of my shortcomings and... whatever until we're back at Ostagar." Holding out a gauntleted hand, he said, "Truce?"

She nodded slowly. "Truce." Her gloved hand took his and gave it a quick shake. "Now go and check on poor Jory. I can imagine there are some parts his wife would probably prefer to remain intact, even if it's not necessarily the head on his shoulders."

His hearty laugh followed her to where Daveth was struggling upright, hand pressed against a nasty gash on his head. "Ah, blasted Andraste's tits! How did that little bugger sneak up on me like that?" She gently moved his hand aside as she gave him the potion, which he gratefully sucked down. "Ah, Maker bless the mage that figured out how to make elfroot more effective and slightly more tasty." He smacked his lips and then stuck out his tongue in distaste. "What I wouldn't give for a cherry flavored one."

"What are you, a child?" she said acerbically, examining his head with gentle and experienced fingers. "You seem to have escaped any lasting damage," she observed. "I'd suggest getting a mage to fully mend it once we're back in Ostagar, but for now we'll have to bandage you." Taking his water bottle, she poured some onto his head to wash off the worst of the blood and then applied the bandage carefully. "There. Try not to move it too much."

"Yeah, right. We're not done with the Wilds yet." He caught her hand, then, pulling her close enough that he could wrap an arm around her. After the initial shock and brief internal struggle to let him  _handle_ her, she relaxed into him, grateful for the gentle moment after the brutality of the battle. "And you're all right?"

She smiled, touched by his concern. "I'm fine. A few bruises and maybe a scorch here or there. Nothing too bad, though I'll need to visit the smith."

"Good," he said quietly, then wrapped a hand around the back of her head and drew her into a kiss. It was not a shy kiss, but one with a fire she recognized, the fire of  _survival_. It didn't matter that they were in the middle of mud and stones with the corpses of the dead around them and some possible onlookers. What mattered was that they both had survived another battle, another day.

It was a kiss she had  _needed_ , a kiss to remind her that she was  _alive_ , even if Nelaros was not. It reminded her that her life had not ended when her blade had extracted the final revenge from the man who had so brutally striven to take her own  _soul_  from her, first through rape and then through murder. As the sound of rushing blood filled her ears, she remembered the nights on the Thieves' Highway, dancing on the edge of death as she had today, and the man who had been at her side then...

And now.

When he released her, she gasped slightly at the sudden loss of warmth, of  _him_. She felt her eyes begin to sting as she looked into his, and she knew her breath now ran short for a different reason than exertion in battle.

"You had better  _stay_ fine, little lady," he whispered as he reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her left ear. "I almost had to bury you once. I never want to go through that again."

"Daveth-" she started, but he put a finger to her lips.

"Come on. We've got a Wilds to conquer, some treaties to fetch, and a Joining to get through." Slowly he stood, pulling her up after him. "Let's get going."

When Kalindra turned around, the first thing she saw was the frown on Alistair's face, though it disappeared quickly enough when he noticed her looking at him. And, try though she might to suppress it, the anger flared within again.  _Don't judge me, shem. Don't_ you dare _judge me._

"Shall we?" the shem said, voice a bit too bright considering the circumstances. "It's not quite time to celebrate yet."

She resisted the urge to smack him, moving her hands instead to retie her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, though she made sure her uncut bangs still covered the pristine side of her face. "We're moving."

He just grunted and began moving ahead, leaving the others to scramble in his wake.

 _Some truce, shem. Another lesson learned about whether I can trust you._  This time she did not walk at the front, choosing instead to walk at Daveth's side.

The surcease didn't last long anyway, as they got closer to the ruins that the shem insisted held their goal. Though no Emissary reared its ugly head again, they were tired enough that the battle was protracted, even if the enemies were fewer in number than the ambush they'd just survived. In the end, it was Jory who landed the final blow on the last Hurlock, a victory that left a happy little grin on the earnest warrior's face. Kalindra bit her lip as she exchanged a glance with Daveth. She  _liked_  Jory well enough, but he seemed to be lacking a certain something, just as the shem had observed.

The thought directed her gaze to where the shem stood frowning over one of the fallen, and after a small internal debate, she went to stand next to him. "What's wrong? It's not going to suddenly get up again, is it?" It was a small gesture, a resumption of their truce, as she perceived it, at any rate. Besides, he  _was_  a Grey Warden, even if he was the most junior of the ones at Ostagar, and for Duncan's sake, she would give him another chance.

"What? No, nothing like that." He prodded the body with a boot, then wiped his blade clean and sheathed it. "It's just more proof that there's a Blight, but it's proof only Grey Wardens know enough about to accept. When I had to get my vial of Darkspawn blood, I basically fought only the stouties and the uglies."

A reluctant grin tugged at her lips. "I assume you mean Genlocks and Hurlocks?"

"Yeah, right." He looked slightly embarrassed to be caught with the nicknames. "In my defense, that's what the other Wardens called them back in Denerim."

"So, how is this particular  _ugly_  proof of the Blight?" she said, prodding him back to his original point.

"I've only heard about this kind from the Wardens who've gone to the Deep Roads." He pointed at the horned helmet that had fallen to the side. "Normal uglies don't wear helmets, just like they don't have staffs. Only their leaders do, and their leaders, historically, don't come out except during a Blight, particularly this far from the Deep Roads." He grimaced. "But to someone who isn't a Warden, it's just another Darkspawn that got bored and left the underground."

She frowned. "The King said he didn't really think it was a Blight. Granted, he said a lot of things." Turning away abruptly as the memory churned in her head, she started heading towards the ruins. "Leave Chief Ugly alone, shem. We're not done yet."

"Chief Ugly?" she heard the shem grumble behind her, and shared a grin with Daveth as she moved past him.

She paused momentarily at the doorway, taking in what had once been a grand room, complete with majestic staircase. Her eyes lit upon a chest, but narrowed when she noticed its battered, broken state. "Damn," she muttered, stalking up to the chest that, given its condition,  _had_  to be empty.

Staring at the empty chest in frustration, she almost didn't hear Daveth's short, sharp double whistle. Her blade was in her hand without thought as she turned to her right in instant reaction to his warning, and she found herself meeting the calm gaze of a female shem with golden eyes and striking face paint.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

Every one of Kalindra's already stretched nerves itched as the woman's voice filled the room, and the blade stayed in her hand as it tracked the unexpected visitor. The woman seemed to be a mage, judging from the staff she used to maneuver down the stairs with a grace that bespoke no need for such assistance. As she walked around the small group, she spoke in a low, bored voice. "Are you vultures, I wonder? Or perhaps scavengers, poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely intruders, come into these Darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?" Kalindra watched the woman watch them, golden eyes going to each man for a few moments before settling once more on Kalindra, ignoring the weapon entirely. Still, the staff remained ready, so perhaps the new arrival wasn't as nonchalant as she appeared. "What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?"

The words didn't help the odd sensation that ran down Kalindra's arms every time the woman spoke, but they  _did_  indicate an attack was not imminent. Reluctantly the elf put her dagger away, relaxing her stance as the woman echoed Kalindra and seated her own staff across her back as if she had meant to do so in the first place. "I say I don't appreciate being spied upon," Kalindra responded, then pointed at the empty chest. "Do you know the whereabouts of the contents of that chest?"

"I may," the woman said airily. "If you are brave enough to seek the answer, I can give it."

"She looks to be Chasind," Kalindra heard Alistair say, and she turned to find him standing just behind her, regarding the woman in feathers and leather with obvious suspicion. "Be cautious in what you say. She may not be alone."

Kalindra turned back to the woman, noting the amusement on her face at the shem's words, then glanced at Daveth. "Didn't you used to live near here? What do you think?"

He shifted nervously. "She's not Chasind, I'll give her that, but... she might be worse. There are stories of Witches of the Wild, you know." He shuddered. "One wrong move, and she could turn us into toads!"

"Witch of the Wilds?" the woman said with a sneer. "Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?" Dismissing the two men with a gesture, she met Kalindra's gaze once more. "Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine. Let us be civilized."

 _I can think well enough to realize you didn't deny the legend directly._ She fought the urge to rub her arms as the prickle in the air continued. "Yet even little boys realize when something is amiss. How long have you been watching us?"

"Watching us?" she heard Jory gasp. "You think she's been watching us?"

"No, I'm sure she just happened to be wandering around these ruins picking flowers until we stumbled in from the cold," Daveth muttered.

"And if she was watching us, there may be more out there, Chasind or Witches," the shem remarked. "Be alert."

"Oh, you fear that barbarians are going to swoop down upon you?" the mage demanded, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice.

"Yes, swooping is bad. Something I'd prefer to avoid altogether, really." The shem stepped forward, coming even with Kalindra. "And you haven't actually answered any of our questions, you know. I suppose people just happen to grow on trees in the Wilds? Especially mages?"

Kalindra reached out and laid a hand on the shem's arm. "Let me handle this."

Their eyes met, his surprise at her intervention fading as he shrugged. "All right. Just be careful: one minute, you think you're safe and then  _zap!_  Frog time."

The woman put a hand to her face and shook her head slowly. "By my- Not all in the Wilds are monsters. Flowers grow as well as toads."

"And if there aren't enough toads, you can just zap some into being?" Kalindra asked. The whole situation was just… irritating. It was clear that the woman, for whatever reason, preferred to speak to  _her_  rather than the men. Still, they needed those treaties, and so far their only lead was this Witch. "And my name is Kalindra."

The woman paused, her mouth caught open to retort to Kalindra's comment. "Ah. And mine is Morrigan." She placed her hands on her hips. "So, you are seeking the contents of that chest?"

"You stole them, didn't you?" the shem demanded. "You're some kind of sneaky… witch-thief!"

Kalindra turned and glared at him even as Morrigan chuckled. "How very eloquent."

"While I agree with that observation, I would appreciate it if you could just tell us the location of that which we seek. Even if you removed them, they are still Warden business." How many times had she confronted a rival thief in Denerim with similar words?  _More times than I care to recall._  "The sooner you aid us, the sooner we can be out of your hair, after all."

"That is most true. Though it is not I who have them, it is my hair that will be much happier once you are gone." She shrugged. "Follow me, if you please."

"To where?" Kalindra demanded, immediately suspicious. "How convenient, to remove something that was obviously important, then wait for someone to show up to claim them. A simple setup for an ambush."

Morrigan's lips settled into a frown. "Are you all so mistrustful? You've seen the intellectual capacity of the typical denizens of the Wilds. Wouldn't you be eager to speak to someone of intelligence for a change?"

Kalindra allowed herself a smile at the thought of Morrigan trying to converse with a genlock, but nevertheless did not relent. "Then tell us where you will take us. And I would prefer it if it were not an ambush, if you please. The blood will be difficult enough to clean off our armor as it is."

The witch regarded her with narrowed eyes, then smiled. "I like you. You've a wit to match that tongue of yours. I will, in fact, be taking you to my mother, in whose possession are the items you seek."

"Your mother?" the shem asked, sounding startled.

"I didn't spring full-formed from a tree stump," the Witch said with a sneer. "Now, are you coming or not?"

"She'll put us all into the pot, she will, just you watch," Daveth muttered.

Surprisingly, it was Jory who replied. "If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'll be a welcome change."

Raising an eyebrow, Kalindra nodded and moved to follow Morrigan as she turned and disappeared into the thick brush. "Come on," she ordered, not really caring who was in charge. She just wanted to get back to Ostagar.


	8. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Join us brothers and sisters.  
> Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.  
> Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn.  
> And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.  
> And that one day we shall join you.
> 
> (Words spoken at the Grey Warden Joining)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta readers, Mille Libri and HereThereBeDragons!

Mamae! Mamae! _I cry as I run through the house, Nehn hanging limply in my arms._ Something's wrong with him!  _She looks up from her sewing at the table as I rush into the room and lay Nehn in front of her. I watch, tears in my eyes, as her fingers run through his soft fur._ Can you do anything for him?

_She shakes her head slowly._ No, little fox.  _She runs her hand over the long spine and tail, then sighs and reaches for a large piece of cloth on the table to cover his body, leaving only his head uncovered._ He has reached the end of his time.

No! _I wail._ I won't let it be!

_She pulls me into her arms, taking my hand and slowly putting it on top of the cloth over his body._ You know that it has not been easy for him these last few days.

_I nod reluctantly. I know that cats don't stop eating if they feel fine. Yet just because I can acknowledge it, does not mean I have to accept it._ I'll miss him, Mamae. He was a good kitty.

Yes, he was. _She squeezes my wrist as I scratch his head one last time._ But sometimes, you need to say goodbye.

_I feel my lower lip tremble as my vision blurs._ I don't like it.

_She draws me even closer._ No one does.

   

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

   

"I never thought I'd be glad to see  _this_  place again," the shem declared as they passed through the gates to the camp at Ostagar. "Yet here we are." He rolled his shoulders and looked at the sky, which had lost the pink of sunset during the silent, forced march with Morrigan out of the Wilds. "We should get back to Duncan quickly. He'll need the blood as soon as possible for the Joining." He patted his pouch for a moment, frowning. "Where-"

Kalindra waited, smiling innocently, while the shem explored his now empty pouch with increasing vigor. When he seemed about ready to head back out into the Wilds, she handed him the three little glass bottles, their necks tied together. "Looking for something, shem?"

He frowned, looking at the vials he'd placed in his pouch and her little impish grin. Snatching them - though carefully - from her hand, he said, "Is this really necessary, recruit? I thought we had a-" He stopped, looking around camp. "Oh, I get it. Clever, very clever." The sarcasm dripping from his voice was thicker than honey. "Can we put the truce  _back_  into place until after the Blight is dealt with? I'd appreciate it, thanks."

She shrugged. "If you wish."

The shem glared at her for a moment, then looked at Daveth and Jory. "Would you excuse us a moment?"

The two men looked a bit surprised at the request, but turned to move away, though Daveth hesitated and shot Kalindra a worried look before joining Jory.  _I can do this._  It was only the shem, after all.

When they were out of earshot, he moved so that his armored body was between them and Kalindra. Oddly, his face held only concern and a trace of irritation, and none of the anger that had been there just a moment earlier. "Kalindra... I think you need to be... careful when it comes to Daveth."

She stiffened. "I knew him for years before I was recruited by the Wardens. Is there some sort of rule that says I may not be with him once we've joined your Order?"

"No, but the Joining-" He sighed. "Look, all I'm saying is that a Blight is not a good time to... plan for the future, and that runs doubly so for a Grey Warden."

"I'm not planning for a future," she grated. "I'm just accepting the attention of someone who has been waiting for a long time for things to align."

"And that's my point," he said earnestly. "This... is not the time. This is a Blight. It's never the right time for anything."

"The Blight doesn't mean you stop living, shem. Even I know that."

"I'm just trying to help," he insisted, setting a hand on her arm.

She shook him off violently, her reaction to his touch not aided by the fact that his hair was tinged red because of the firelight behind him. "Don't touch me!" she hissed. The nausea hit her again, slamming her with unexpected force, and she suddenly pushed past him and dashed deeper into the camp. She heard Daveth call her name, but she didn't want to be with  _anyone_ until she felt normal again, until the edge of cold from adrenaline-fueled fear faded once more. So she dodged around fires and people, even climbing a couple of trees to leap over some fences until she found a quiet, dark place where she could relieve the pent-up pressure in her stomach and behind her eyes.

After she'd attended to the first and had wrapped her arms around her knees to address the other, she slowly became aware of the sound of breathing nearby: slow, steady, yet also with a touch of wheeze. Curious, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and began to crawl towards the source of the sound, stopping when her hand brushed up against warm fur. With a gasp she sat back, and saw two eyes appear in the dark next to her, accompanied by a soft  _whuff_.

A Mabari.

Some of her richer marks in Denerim had had stables filled with the hounds, and she had always made a point to become friendly with them - usually with steaks lightly dusted with sleeping powder - on nights of major heists. Daveth had always pushed that task off on her because, for some reason, the animals seemed to like her. It had paid off more than once, and the memory of running off on the Thieves' Highway with the exasperated voices of the Mabari handlers echoing from the stables behind them made her chuckle out loud.

The Mabari  _whuff_ ed again, and she saw a suggestion of movement, as if the stump of tail was trying to wag. She moved closer to it, found the ears after a bit of careful groping, and gently began to rub them between her fingers. The eyes closed, and she felt the body twitch as the little stump of a tail wagged a bit more vigorously.

"Is someone in there?" a voice called from behind her.

The Mabari growled softly at the sound, a sound that turned into a whine before subsiding into a heaving breath. Puzzled, she moved her hand down his body, feeling ribs and patches of missing fur. "You poor thing," she said softly as she returned to scratching his head. "You've been hurt, haven't you, boy?" Her own fear and anger dissipated in the face of the pain of another one more helpless than she.

She heard the sound of a creak behind her, and approaching footsteps told her that the voice was investigating a bit more personally than a shout. She turned to face the newcomer, and the Mabari again tried to growl before subsiding into a wheezing whine.

The footsteps proved to be a male human, wearing the customary thick leather gauntlets of those who worked with Mabari on a regular basis. He stopped when he caught sight of her. "I thought I heard someone. I see you've found our poor sick fellow." He took another step towards them, and the growl rose again, fading only when he stepped away. "One of our best Mabari before his Ash Warrior got killed by Darkspawn and he got hurt himself. The Wardens told me he was tainted, and that's usually the death knell for a Mabari - or a man, truthfully." He shook his head. "Hate to lose him, but you saw his reaction - if I get too near, he tries to bite me. He's even off his feed, and this one used to eat half an ox in one sitting, given the chance." His eyes moved from the Mabari to her, considering. "You're no servant, not with that armor and those blades. You... you're with the Wardens, aren't you? That new recruit the King's been going on about to any who will listen?"

She blinked. That particular bit was news to her, but she nodded anyway. "I  _am_  a Grey Warden recruit."

"How'd you get in here? The only ways are through the gate or from above." The man glanced at the tree branch overhanging the back of the pen, then back to her, gaze considering. "That's not important, I suppose. Still, I'm glad someone can be with him in his last moments."

"Last moments?" she asked, startled.

"Well, yeah. He's tainted, and there's no cure for that. Well, no cure I have in stock, anyway." He sighed. "The Grey Wardens claimed that one of the flowers out in the Wilds could be made into a cure of some sort, but the guards at the gate won't let me go out - and, quite frankly, I'm a kennel master, not a warrior. Even if they'd let me out, I'd probably die before I went more than fifty feet." He shrugged. "At least he's got a friend with him in the end."

Her hand, however, had wandered to her pouch, where the slightly bruised but still relatively whole white flower still rested. "Flower?" Quickly she pulled it out and held it to him.

His eyes widened, and he ignored the growl as he stepped forward to take it from her, holding it up to get a better view of it. "Maker, yes, this one! Blessed Andraste, how- why-?" He stopped and shook his head. "Hold on, I'll be right back. Don't let the little bugger go!" He turned and trotted out, not unlike one of his charges.

She chuckled, and felt a nudge against the hand that was still on the Mabari's head. Her fingers automatically began moving again, scratching his ears and the soft space above his eyes. The breathing continued, though she noticed that it paused every once in a while, as if it were becoming more difficult. "Hang on,  _fen'len_ ," she whispered, pulling the name her Mother had given to the Mabari from her memory. It was a happy and sad memory, taken from when she was little more than a child and they'd come across some puppies playing in the flowers outside Denerim... before the owner had appeared and almost had them arrested for the theft of the Mabari.

_Another reason to distrust shem._

Still, her encouragement seemed to be welcomed at this moment as the tail again tried to wag, and the kennel master seemed indifferent to her race as long as she could help his precious charges. The gate crashed again, and she heard his heavy footsteps approach. "Here you are, Warden. You'll have to give it to him, since he's not having any of me."

She nodded, taking the small skin from his outstretched hand. Gently she lifted the Mabari's head and eased the tip of the skin into his mouth, murmuring meaningless syllables as she poured the contents down his throat in a few slow mouthfuls.

Setting the skin aside, she scratched at his ears again, making sure that he had swallowed it all and that he was breathing regularly. In fact, she noticed that the little pauses that had crept into his breathing seemed to be gone, and the wheezing was already lessened. She looked down at him with a smile. "Feeling better, are we?"

The tail wagged, and a slightly stronger  _whuff_  than before echoed in the little pen.

She smiled. "Keep it that way,  _fen'len._ " Retrieving the waterskin, she stood and went to the kennel master, handing him the empty bag. "He seems to be doing better already."

"Oh, I hope so, He was one of our most promising of the breed." Suddenly he blinked. "Oh, and there's a Grey Warden out front looking for you. I told him I'd send you out."

_The shem,_  she thought with resignation. "Yes, thank you." She glanced back at the Mabari. "Will he be all right?" she asked, still a bit worried.

"Well, according to the Wardens I got the cure from, they said it will take a few hours for him to completely recover, but then he'll be right as rain." He took her hand and shook it enthusiastically, and again she was reminded of a large, shem-shaped Mabari pup. "Thank you so much, Warden. I really can't thank you enough. I was so worried for the little fellow. What'd you call him? Fenlen?" His face grew thoughtful. "Why don't you come around after the battle? He seems to have taken quite the shine to you, maybe he'll want to stay with you. It would be fitting, you know - a Mabari who survived the taint, being with a Grey Warden. Poetic."

She laughed. "That it would. I'm glad I could help. And..." She looked back at the Mabari, who had lifted his head and was wagging his tail. "I think I will come back. Thank you."

He nodded. "We don't tell them who to like, and I won't tell him to like someone else if he's chosen you. His teeth are too long for me to win that argument, you know?"

The smile lasted on her mouth right up until she exited the pens and found the frowning shem waiting for her. "Where did you run off to?" he demanded. "There's no time to waste, you know that."

The guilt returned, as did the pain in her middle. "I'm sorry, I just... needed time alone."  _And you grabbed me._

Surprisingly, her words made his face soften. "I don't mean-" He sighed. "Look, the others are waiting with Duncan. He has some final words for all of you about the Joining. Although when he heard that you'd run off, he just told me to look in the trees." His puzzlement was evident, and she bit back a smile at its sincerity.

For that moment, he again reminded her of Daveth, as he had in the very beginning, and again she made an internal promise to Duncan to  _try_  to get along with her soon-to-be fellow Warden.  _Once this is all done, I really should set things right with him._ "I'll show you later, after the Joining," she promised.

"Right," he said, looking away. "Let's just get back to Duncan."

And as they walked silently through the camp, she wondered,  _Why does the Joining make him so uncomfortable? Or is it me, somehow?_

She still had no answer by the time they'd arrived at Duncan's fire.

   

.~^~.

   

_No._

"Maker's Breath!"

_Daveth._

The sound of strangled gasping, a choked cry...

_Not again._

"I am sorry, Daveth."

_Meaningless words._

A thud as the body hit the ground with finality.

_No!_

She sank to her knees at his side, only dimly aware of the flurry of activity happening at the periphery of her vision, something involving blades and blood, Duncan and Jory. Her hand reached out and caressed Daveth's face, ignoring everything else around her, the tears flowing freely as they had not been able to for Nelaros. The nausea was so strong it was almost tangible, but for once it was secondary to another pain, a pain that was familiar yet not.

_No more to dance with blades, or on rooftops, or under the sheets. No more to laugh, or to cry, or to kiss. No more..._ anything _._

"Kalindra."

_How many times must I lose my light?_

"Kalindra, you are called upon to submit yourself to the taint."

Dully, she looked up at Duncan. The dim moonlight made it impossible to discern his expression, but she knew there would be no sympathy, no lenience. She would be a Grey Warden, no matter the circumstances and no matter her feelings. The blood from Jory's corpse began to circle Daveth, making its slow way to where she knelt.

"For the greater good."

She held his gaze for a moment, then reached for the cup. As she pressed the metal to her lips, she closed her eyes and remembered the desperate kiss into which Daveth had pulled her in the shadows of Ostagar, after Duncan had told them of the possible consequences of the Joining. No words, only passion and fear that melted her heart and terrified her all at once. And then he had gone, running towards where they were supposed to await Duncan's arrival for the Joining.

"That's it."

The liquid seared her throat, and farther, landing in her belly to burn with the heat of an open flame. She felt the cup removed from her hands, and she waited for the pain to spread, to devour her as it had Daveth. Instead, the agony remained in her torso, increasing in intensity until she gasped and bent double in pain, a shuddering cry escaping her throat in reaction to the torment that ripped through her stomach.

"Is that... blood?"

Unable to bear it any longer, she collapsed on the ground and curled into a fetal position, aware only of the invisible dagger that seemed to be stabbing her repeatedly in the abdomen, no matter how she twisted to avoid it. The warm liquid that was swiftly saturating her legs and armor barely registered in her mind over the torment which made her scream to the moon.

"Fetch Wynne, Alistair. Quickly!"

The darkness overwhelmed her after that. The dragon, at least, couldn't hurt her.

   

.~^~.

_His arms wrapped around her, a hand idly running up and down her bare back. Around them lingered the scent of grass and flowers, and the sun dappled their skin through the leaves of the young oak under which they'd laid the blanket. The light sweat on their skin succumbed to the constant caress of the spring breezes, and she sighed in contentment as he kissed the crown of her head._

_"So what's the excuse you're using today?"_

_"Hmmm, let's see..." Her fingers walked across his chest, pausing to circle a nipple sensuously. "Helping some shem noble's daughter for a wedding, I think. One of the Banns sent the call out for temporary maids." She shrugged and wriggled closer to him. "Not that Father cares, but I needed_ something _to tell Shianni and Soris."_

_"Ah, I'm not enough?" he said in a teasing tone. "Hours of hot, animalistic sex aren't a good reason to escape cleaning the house?"_

_"Hmmm, well, only if it's true... Hey!" she objected as his hand slapped her on the ass. "What was that for?"_

_He pushed her flat on the ground and straddled her, grinding into her as he bent his head and claimed her lips for a deep kiss, tongue and hips matching their thrusting. When he released her, he lowered himself to cover her entirely, and her light moaning switched to a soft giggle as he began to slide up and down her torso. "You know that tickles!"_

_"I know," he said with a wicked laugh. "That's part of the fun, little lady."_

_"Incorrigible!" She tried to get her hands around him to grab that tight ass, but he intercepted them and drew them to the space between their bodies, wrapping them around his hardening shaft suggestively and squeezing._

_She started to follow his suggestion, a naughty grin on her lips, but stopped as his face abruptly paled. Releasing him, she grasped his face between her hands. "Daveth?"_

_"I... I suddenly don't feel so good. Sorry..." He rolled off her to the ground, where he lay motionless, not even breathing. Around them, the bright day dimmed, and the oak tree changed to stone and dirt and tears. Shadows moved around them, but they did not pause, would not help, and she heard only a constant whisper in the wind:_ Duty.

_Hysterical, she pulled his body to her own and shook it, calling his name, never receiving a response._

_"Pity, isn't it, these little moments of tragedy."_

_Hands gripped her shoulders and brought her to her feet, shoving her violently against a wall that hadn't been there a moment before. She felt the metal point of a blade come to rest on her abdomen, directly over her womb, as she met arrogant green eyes set between red hair and a cruel smile. "Your final lesson, my little whore: there_ is _no light."_

_And the blade pushed home._

She bolted upright from the nightmare, her scream searing an already strained throat. Her hands sought her stomach, almost expecting to find a dagger sticking out, but found only skin marked by old scars. Her harsh breaths rang in the air as she struggled to make sense of the chaos of her mind, sorting through dream and vision and horrors to come back to reality and its twisted mess.

_Daveth..._

The tears leaked from her eyes as she wrapped her arms around her knees, face buried between them, and began to rock gently back and forth. She could not deny his death, any more than she could deny that of Nelaros, but that didn't mean she would be able to handle either. The rocking motion helped some, but the emptiness remained, as did the pain in her middle, though she dimly wondered why the pain of the dream lingered so strongly.

"Kalindra."

She started as the low voice sounded from the corner of the small tent, forcing herself to take a deep breath before turning to face him. "Duncan." Her voice was harsh; clearly the scream that had ripped from her upon awakening was not the only one to escape her throat recently.

He moved closer, settling onto the bedroll next to her. She regarded him without emotion. Perhaps later, she would waste time with blame and rage, but she had no energy for anything but sorrow and loss at the moment. In a detached fashion, she noticed that the man who sat next to her was not the Commander, not the man who had killed Jory or given her the cup that had killed Daveth. No, this was Duncan, the man who had ensured that she had been given as much time as could be given after her assault, who had gifted her with armor and daggers and taken the time to school her in their use, who had cared for her even though it was not something that a Commander ought to do. Again, perhaps later, she would also appreciate that and remember the feelings that had grown in her towards that man, the man who had almost come to be a father to her...

Perhaps.

"It is finished," he said in a soft voice. "Welcome."

She shook her head, but could do nothing else. Between the pain and the dream and the loss, it wasn't quite real, and she knew that she would need to seek a tree to truly make any sense of it all. Yet the look on his face was not of congratulations or celebration, but of sorrow - an odd reaction from a man who had killed one of his own recruits for reluctance. "There's more?" she whispered.  _How could it be worse?_

"I do not know how to say this gently, but I think you should know." He reached out and took a hand, settling it between his own - a very  _fatherly_  gesture, indeed. "You were with child. The Joining... I am sorry. The child did not survive the ritual."

_You were with child._  Her free hand automatically sought her abdomen again, the placement of the blade in the dream abruptly making sense. The signs had been there, these last couple of weeks, especially when she hadn't experienced her normal bleed. The tears, the excessive emotions, the nausea... everything she'd ascribed to the process of recovering from trauma... Her face twisted, and she turned away from Duncan as her shoulders began to shake.

_You were with child._ For the first time in over a month, the memory of Nelaros emerged from the dark place she had hidden it. Their one and only night together came back to her, including the warm herbal drink her aunt had pressed upon her, reminding her of the old Alienage adage,  _The child of the wedding night always has luck._

_You were with child._  Her lifelong dream, of being a mother, to be for another what her mother had been for her...

_The child did not survive._

She took a shuddering breath. "Thank you for telling me."  _Now leave me alone._

"That is not all you should know." His voice was grim as he continued, hands still holding hers. "As a Warden, it would have been unlikely - though not impossible - for you to ever bear children. This is due to the nature of the Joining, as the taint within affects certain processes, including the conception and carrying of children. However, for you, the matter is... complicated. The healer who tended you said that the nature of the miscarriage - most likely due to the Joining ritual - also damaged you, quite extensively. There will be complications in store for you for years to come. In all likelihood, a child will be impossible." He sighed. "I am sorry, Kalindra. The Wardens have gained a magnificent warrior - I spoke with Alistair about your actions in the Korcari Wilds while the healer was with you - but we do not have as much to offer you." He patted her hand. "I pray that once this crisis has passed and the Blight dealt with that we may offer you the family that has been taken from you. More than once, in fact. Still," and his face tightened with resolve, "the Wardens do what we must. Remember our motto."

He'd spoken the words often during their dinners on the way to Ostagar. She turned her head to face him, forcing the words through her tears.  _"In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice."_

"Yes." His face was stern, though the kindness hadn't entirely fled. "It is a calling, a duty, and, in the end, always necessary. After the coming battle, I will have more time to speak with you of those things that cannot be told to recruits before the Joining, but suffice it to say that it is a greater world you have entered than being a thief on the streets of Denerim." He leaned in slightly. "But I ask that you never forget that past. I did not choose you simply because I knew your mother, but because Wardens need to have a certain... perspective to carry out their duties. We will discuss this more later, but for now remember this: a Warden does whatever is necessary to fulfill his tasks, whether it is killing Darkspawn or gathering forces for a Blight. Whatever it takes, Kalindra."

Oddly enough, the words helped. Had he tried to give her a shoulder to cry on, or a hug to comfort her, it would have felt... forced and not  _him_  - not the man she'd come to respect more than her own father.

_Father..._  And suddenly, she had another reason not to give in to her despair. She'd lived with someone who, for all intents and purposes, had stopped living when his light had been taken from him. Her chin firmed, and her shoulders calmed.  _Later_  - there would always be a later, to mourn, for tears, to seek another in whose arms she would find comfort. But she would never be her father.  _Ever._

As if waiting for the moment of resolve, Duncan handed her a small piece of cloth. "The King has requested your presence within the Council at sunset."

She was startled even as she wiped her face with the cloth. "Sunset? But-" She glanced to the tent flap, suddenly realizing that sunlight was leaking through. "I thought the Joining-"

"A full night and morning passed while the healer fought for your life," he said softly. "I never doubted you would survive the Joining, but I had my doubts for your life once she told me the reason for your bleeding." He shook his head. "If it is any consolation, I would have postponed your Joining had I known, as I withdrew my offer to your mother when I learned she was expecting you. Due to the nature of your Conscription, I still would have been obligated to compel you to a Joining at a later time, but I would never have subjected you to it knowing this outcome. Again, I am sorry." For a moment, he was simply Duncan, and she nodded, knowing that soon the Commander must reappear. "Your things are waiting for you. I had the smith repair your armor. The meeting with the King and Loghain will take place at the War Council room. I will see you at sunset."

"Yes, Commander," she said, then fell silent as he exited the tent.

Once he was gone, she turned her head until she found her armor and weapons tucked into the corner, the amulet she'd acquired in Redcliffe rolled up into a neat little package on her armor. Whoever had tended to her must have found it only when removing the armor entire, since she'd always worn it tucked into a clever hidden pocket between the chain and leather over her chest.

Mood pensive yet fragile, she picked up the amulet as a distraction and unraveled the leather thong that held it, wondering yet again why she'd kept it. Part of the reason, she knew, was that she simply had not had a chance to return it, given Connor's interruption. Still, she'd kept it close even after that, memorizing every broken chip and dulled surface, wondering what it must have looked like new, wondering who had worn it before her and what she had been like. At night, up in her chosen tree of the evening, she would hold the amulet up to the moonlight and let her thoughts try to imagine a woman whose amulet had been shattered and then rebuilt. Had she been beautiful? Was she a young woman of no family, but with hope for the future? Was she an old woman whose family was long lost, the amulet nothing but a reminder of loved ones long dead? Had it been a wedding present, or a present from a lover, or a grateful employer for service faithfully rendered?

Though it was an oddity that had taken hold in her mind, she knew it was far more than curiosity that had made her hold on to it. Ever and always, her thought would turn to the person who had put it into that desk drawer, and before she closed her eyes and slept, a final thought would often cross her mind.

What kind of person would take something that had been ruined so thoroughly, and yet put it so carefully back together? Was it the person who had worn it? Or someone who had cared for them so deeply that any reminder of that person was a memory too precious to lose?

And would someone do the same for her?

Blinking rapidly, she set the amulet on the cot next to her and hurriedly got dressed, pulling on the new padded tunic and trews left for her before tackling the armor and weapons. They fit as they had before, no trace of what she had gone through left to mar them, and she vowed that it would be the same with her.

Picking up the amulet, she examined it one last time before tucking it into her armor once more, invisible to all but her own thoughts. It seemed fitting that someone so broken would cherish another's broken treasure. If nothing else, it gave her something to think about at night besides pain between her legs, a cruel laugh, and empty arms...

Lips set into a grim line, she pushed her way out of the tent into the daylight beyond.


	9. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kalindra tries to put her grief behind her and concentrate on the present, pushing her feelings aside to be dealt with later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta readers, Mille Libri and HereThereBeDragons!

_ _

* * *

 

_The wind blows cold against my face, freezing the tears it finds there. I clasp the vial close to my chest, wishing my heart did not have to be so empty. I look up at Mother, who nods encouragement._

You need to have the wind at your back, little fox, _she says gently._

_Obediently I turn, my long hair whipping around my face in a frenzy as the leaves above me rustle before the force of the gale. Uncorking the vial, I fling its contents out and up. For the barest instant, I see the ashes flicker and shine in the wind, and then they are gone._

He will dance forever with the wind? _I whisper._

He will dance to the edge of the world, and then to the stars beyond, _she replies._ And the stars will always be with you.

 _I nod, my eyes filling with tears again._ Goodbye, my Nehn, my joy, _I tell him,_ until I can join you in the dance.

   

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

   

Since sunset wasn't for a few hours yet, Kalindra decided to check on the Mabari that she had inadvertently aided with her flower. She closed her eyes and took a few moments to orient herself through sound, hoping to hear a cluster of barking since she didn't remember where her feet had taken her the day before. For that matter, she wasn't sure where, exactly, in the camp she currently stood, the tent from which she had emerged being in a place unfamiliar to her. As she took a deep breath and released it, however, she heard no obvious signs of canine habitation. Like it or not, if she wished to see the Mabari, she would need a guide.

And aside from Duncan, there was only one person she knew that was still aliv- Shaking her head quickly, she opened her eyes and began moving towards the camp proper, judging by the bustle of people as they prepared for battle.

She ended up not needing to ask for aid in finding Alistair: she found him not fifty feet from the tent, apparently waiting for her to appear. He pushed himself from the post he'd been leaning on and headed towards her as soon as she came into sight, a look of concern on his face. Kalindra stopped immediately, a cold wave running over her body as his presence brought back all the events of the Joining even more than Duncan's had.

He came to a halt in front of her, silent for a minute. "I- I'm so sorry, Kalindra," he said softly.

She couldn't help it. The pain, the memories, the anger, all focused and centered on this shem, regardless of the fact that he was almost entirely innocent of inflicting any of them. "Why didn't you tell me?" she lashed out.

He winced. "Look, we're not allowed to tell recruits about the true dangers of the Joining. We just can't. The recruitment numbers for the Grey Wardens are low enough as it is already. How many people would volunteer if they knew there was a pretty good chance of dying before getting the title?"

Deep down, she knew he was right, and her anger unjustified. Yet where she couldn't get angry at Duncan, she couldn't let go of it around Alistair. "You saw even more than Duncan what he meant to me. He's the Commander, he has to... to hold himself away from others to fulfill his duties. All leaders need to." A childhood memory surfaced, of the way Slim would look at her mother, and then just as quickly diminished again. "But you- I thought-" She looked down, shutting her eyes tight as she struggled to get herself under control, repeating to herself that this was  _not_  the shem's fault. When she'd regained a semblance of control, she managed to lift her face to look at him once more. "You were waiting for me?"

He nodded, though now he looked even more uncomfortable than before. "The Wardens... well, after a Joining, there's usually a need, so we... had a pyre ready. I thought you might like to... say goodbye." He glanced up. "They'll set it to light when the sun peaks. Not too long, now." One of his hands started to reach out, stopping when she flinched back. Letting it fall helplessly, he repeated, "I'm sorry, I truly am. I just thought it might... help."

The sting of unshed tears was overwhelming, but at the same time she was touched he'd sought her out to tell her. Vision blurring, she nodded her head. "I... Yes." Blinking rapidly, she brushed her gloves under her eyes. "Where?"

"Where the Joining took place. It's... tradition." He hesitated for a moment before offering his arm for her to lean on. She regarded it for a second, then looked up at him. "Allow me to do what I can, no matter how small."

After a further moment's consideration, she wrapped her arm around his. "Thank you."

As they walked through the camp, he kept glancing at her, little darting looks that started to unnerve her after a while. Finally, he said, "Someone died in my Joining as well. It was a shock, and... while I wasn't as close to him as you were to Daveth, it helped to see him be granted the respect and dignity that all recruits deserve."

"Even Jory?" she asked. Though she couldn't remember all the words that had been exchanged between Duncan and the oddly weak strongman, she still remembered Jory's blood pooling around her and... "He didn't even try."

"He's not the first to falter before drinking, and he won't be the last. He still volunteered to be a Warden, and was chosen because of his skills and abilities. Regardless of how he met his end, he perished during the Joining. We honor that."

She nodded, not responding as they continued on their way. The glances continued, until finally she couldn't let them pass uncommented any more. "What?" she demanded, pulling her arm from his grip.

"I'm sorry, it's just... When Duncan told me to get the mage, I thought-" He shook his head. "I guess I'm just glad you're alive."

"I wish I could share the sentiment." The words were out before she could stop them, and before he could do more than look startled, she ducked past him and ran the rest of the way.

.~^~.

The Grey Wardens gave her another amulet, one marked with the symbol she remembered from the book Connor had shown her an eternity ago: a griffon. She tried to listen to what the strangers said, these people who were Grey Wardens like herself, but all she felt was numb, and all she heard were words that faded into the wind. Still, she accepted the amulet and placed it around her neck, hoping one day to mean the words of thanks she murmured in response to their congratulations and welcome. Alistair, though he did arrive shortly before the torch was laid to the wood, did not approach her, choosing to keep his distance. She was guiltily grateful for that. Whatever it was that set her on edge around him did not seem to diminish as time passed. As soon as she could, she slipped away, clutching a small cloth full of ashes tightly in her hand.

Swiftly she made her way to the bridge just outside Ostagar, moving past soldiers that attempted greetings without acknowledging them, until she stood at the point where the wind was sharpest and the view most spectacular. Facing away from the wind, she stood on the edge of the precipice and closed her eyes. A part of her wondered what it would be like to take that step to where no ground would catch her foot, but another part still refused to grant her enemies and her pain that victory. So instead she forced herself to revel in the feeling of the wind against her, letting the chill wash over her as pure and as ruthless as water from a stream in winter. Her hand stole up and removed the bind that held enough of her hair in check to allow her vision, and the wind picked up its length and played with it, introducing a chaos to her tresses that would be difficult to undo.

She didn't care. Nothing mattered at this moment, not herself, not her past, not her future. The coldness numbed her, divorced her from everything, and allowed her to forget for the moment the significance of the amulet around her neck and the small cloth and its burden in her hand.

Still, the cold could not be ignored forever. As the chill penetrated even past the leather and chainmail of her armor, she brought her hand up, scrutinizing the tightly rolled cloth. Daveth... reduced to a small bit of smudge and dirt. She remembered a similar moment in her past, save that she had stood on a hill outside Denerim and clutched her mother's ashes in her hand, waiting for the moment within to tell her when she would be ready to release them into the wind.

The moment did not arrive for her mother until a year after her death, when, with the blood of her mother's final murderer still wet on her face, she had scaled Fort Drakon - his place of employment - and stood on its ramparts. Then, as now, the chill wind had washed over her, freezing the blood into a reddish brown mark and cleansing her sorrow as she had finally released her mother's ashes to wander free upon the wind. She had descended triumphant, her fifth and, she had thought, final mark etched into her face.

And now she stood on top of another human-made monstrosity, the signs of her mother's expiation marred by the evil of yet another shem, and more alone than she had ever been in her life. The tears rose in her eyes and this time she allowed them to flow, trusting in the curtain of black hair snapping in the wind to conceal her weakness from the eyes of those around her.

Her hand tightened around the ashes, wondering if she should release him, to dance an eternal freedom on the wind... without her. She had no one to blame for his death, aside from those that she now counted herself among, and the anger that had consumed her pain during the hunt after her mother's murder could not be used this time to force the pain down, or redirect it. For a moment, she was back in that room with the Bann and his arrogance, with Nelaros and his last gasp, and then again watching Daveth's body pitch forward. She staggered, falling to her knees at the edge of the bridge, and tried to find yet another reason to not simply... fall.

The answer came in a simple sound, close to her ear _: "Whuff!"_

It caught her by surprise, of course, and she turned her head to stare at the Mabari standing next to her with something akin to shock. "Wha—"

Her word was interrupted by the sensation of a long, warm, and wet tongue trying to get to her face through the hair. Instinctively she fended off the enthusiastic hound with a firm "No!" The Mabari took the rebuff in good grace, sitting back on his haunches and panting with his tongue lolling to one side.

Still, it was precisely the kind of interruption she'd needed - something that was alive but demanded nothing more than what she was capable of giving. "Fen'len," she gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck. The Mabari barked, tail wagging and shaking his entire body in his enthusiasm, and she laughed at his apparent eagerness. "And how did you come to be here?"

"Ran out of the kennels as soon as I opened the door for his feeding," the familiar voice of the kennel master said. He sounded a trifle out of breath, as if he had been running, and when she looked up at him, he was red-faced but smiling. "I should have known that he would make right for you. Night before last night he started howling fit to bring the moon down, wouldn't quiet for any reason. I thought maybe something had happened to you, but here you are, right as rain." He looked down at the panting Mabari, then back to Kalindra. "Can you take him? Will the Wardens allow that? He's obviously bonded to you now."

She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean, bonded?" The little contact with Mabari she had had in Denerim had been mostly when they were away from their masters, and limited to making sure they were neutralized without harm to them. The Mabari barked and butted his head against her chest, then sat and began to pant again, looking at her with a gaping grin.

"Oh, well, see, this isn't a typical Mabari hound, he's a specially trained war hound. As I told you, his former master was an Ash Warrior, and this one is ready to fight, make no mistake. He wouldn't have picked you if you weren't ready to fight, too - darkspawn or no." He walked over to the Mabari, who now just barked in acknowledgment rather than growling at the man, and scratched his head affectionately. "I don't think he's coming back with me now. I'll hold his stall for him in case you need it, but I think you're stuck with him."

Again, the hound barked, turning to look at Kalindra with what could only be described as puppy-dog eyes. She sighed. "I'll speak with Duncan." A happy  _whuff_  delayed her next question, but when he'd subsided, she said, "What was his name?"

"Oh, only the mabari's hum- ah, companion can determine that. I think he likes the name you've given him already. What was it? Fenlen?"

"Fen'len isn't a name, it's a-" A whine interrupted her, and she glanced at the dog as he tilted his head and lowered his ears. "Oh, all right, Fen'len it is. You just want to be a wolf child, you silly mutt."

He barked happily, then lapped his tongue over her face from chin to forehead.

"Oh, and he's a friendly one, so be careful. I'd carry a cloth at all times if I were you." The kennel master's grin was obvious even in his voice as he reached into the pouch at his waist and withdrew a handkerchief. "Here you go. Least I could do for you helping me save the little fellow."

Gratefully she took the cloth into her empty hand, still acutely aware of the small pouch with its ashes in her left hand. Quickly wiping her face, she looked at the cloth a bit ruefully. "Thanks. I guess I have a lot to learn on how to take care of him."

"Oh, a Mabari's at least as intelligent as your average tax collector," the man assured her. "Just make sure he has a place to sleep and food to eat, and he won't need much more attention than that. Although..." he glanced back at the camp. "If you'd like to come with me, I could give you some things that would be useful."

She swallowed harshly, not truly wanting to return to camp yet. Still, when she glanced up, she discovered to her astonishment that the sun was already starting to acquire the deep pink, red and orange of sunset.  _How long was I out here?_  Her stomach growled in reproach at her, and she stood. Too quickly, apparently, and her hand reached out to grab something as she fought a wave of dizziness, finding a handful of fur. She smiled and moved her hand over the Mabari's back, becoming accustomed to the sensation. "I-I never thought I would have a Mabari."

"Most don't," the kennel master noted as they headed towards Ostagar. "Nobles, warriors - not scrubs like you and me." He grinned. "Still, you'll never meet a more loyal companion or faithful friend than a Mabari. Sweeter smelling ones, maybe." Fen'len looked up at him and growled, then  _whuff_ ed and trotted ahead of them, heading to the pens. "Looks like he's impatient to get on with it. Tell you what, I'll go on ahead and get everything ready. Just a few cloths, a brush or two, and a sander for his nails and all that, for when you know you won't be fighting for a while." He looked nervously towards the Wilds. "Though I don't know when that will happen, honestly." With a final nod, he picked up into a shambling run, leaving her to make a more leisurely way to the pens.

A few minutes later, she and her new friend were heading to the back of the ruins, a kerchief and small pouch with the ashes tucked safely in amidst the brushes and combs and metal bits in the new pouch at her waist. She also had a new appreciation for the kennel master.  _Not scrubs like you and me... I wouldn't mind talking with him after the battle._  After the battle...

"I guess not all shems are bad," she remarked to the hound, seeking to distract herself. Fen'len's ears perked up and he barked, almost overpowering the sound of her stomach growling. She glanced at the sky. Sunset wasn't quite upon them, and she didn't think she would do any good to the reputation of the Wardens if she fainted halfway through the meeting. Looking down at him, she said, "So, think you can find some food for me?"

He barked and took off, too fast for her to follow. She stood rather awkwardly near a tree, waiting to see if he would come back, and was about ready to go searching for herself when the Mabari came dashing back, depositing something in front of her and then wagging his tail expectantly.

Raising an eyebrow, she picked up the bag he'd brought over and opened it, peering in hesitantly. To her surprise, she found a flask, some bread, and even some travel meat. "Ah... thank you, Fen'len." She looked inside again as the Mabari danced a little circle around her, then asked, "And who did you take this from?"

The Mabari suddenly became very interested in his paws, deciding it was a perfect time to start digging.

"I see. You stole it." She heaved a sigh, hoping that it hadn't been anyone important, then sat under the tree and began to eat regardless. She was  _starving_. The Mabari moved to her side, settling down beside her with a sigh, then put his head down on his paws and waited patiently.

She gauged her meal to finish with what she thought was true sunset. Her stomach had been a trifle delicate of late, and she didn't want to overwhelm it. Resolutely she pushed the thought of  _why_  it had been upset aside – that pain promised to be too overwhelming – as she chewed her way through her meal, pleased to discover that the flask contained a light, if inferior, wine. When the sky was just dark enough that denial of sunset was impossible, she tucked the flask into her pouch and stood, folding the bag and tucking it into her belt as well.

Feeling much better, she snapped her fingers for Fen'len and headed towards the War Council 'room'.  _At least the worst has already happened_.

.~^~.

"So, just the two of us, then?" Alistair ventured as they moved through the busy camp to the bridge over the chasm. Fen'len barked, and Alistair coughed. "Ah, three of us, I mean?"

She checked her weapons in their sheaths, not answering him immediately. Her thoughts were still mulling over the meeting, wondering at the men who had been handed the task of keeping everyone alive.  _I don't particularly like either one of them._  Granted, her first meeting with Cailan had left a poor taste in her mouth, but she couldn't quite place why she didn't like Loghain.

"Loghain… He doesn't seem to like Wardens much," she ventured.

"General Loghain?" He seemed a bit surprised by the observation. "I don't think it matters whether or not he  _likes_  us, really. Duncan trusts him to help us defeat the Blight, and I think it a wise decision. General Loghain has been fighting and winning battles and wars longer than I've been alive. It's to Loghain we should be looking to win this battle, not the King." He looked around a bit guiltily. "You… don't have to necessarily tell anyone I said that, all right?"

"Oh, I agree with you," she assured him.

"Well, that's a first."

She looked at him sharply, relaxing when she saw the small smile playing at his lips. He wasn't her ideal companion – she would have preferred to be with Duncan on a mission like this - but Alistair was keeping his physical distance and… well, treating her just like a companion.

_Like he had all along._

Pushing the thought away before the guilt could properly settle in, she went back to the topic at hand. "He didn't seem to like the King much, either. They didn't seem to agree on  _anything_. Why does Cailan even keep him as a General if they dislike each other so much? He—"  _doesn't seem wise enough to ignore what he doesn't like_  seemed a bit  _too_  impolitic to say around a human, so she substituted, "—doesn't seem like the kind of person to listen to someone who disagrees with him so loudly."

"Well, even if  _the King_ ," she noted the hint of reproach in his voice at Kalindra referring Cailan by his name, "isn't enamored of Teyrn Loghain, the armies of Ferelden are. He's kept them alive when a lot of other generals might not have been able to do the same. Besides, Teyrn Loghain and King Maric - Cailan's father - were quite close. Between him being the Hero of River Dane and Teyrn, and a friend of the family and father of the Queen—"

"Anora? I… Yes, I do remember that now." Cailan's marriage had been quite the affair in Denerim, especially for Slim and his crew. They'd made an obscene profit at the time pilfering from the visiting dignitaries, and she'd been so occupied with her marks she hadn't paid that much attention to the politics and personages at the time. She could count the times she'd seen Anora on one hand, but it was still more than she'd seen Cailan – and neither seemed to involve themselves with elves or the Alienage at all. "I can see why it would be hard for Cailan to set Loghain aside, then."

"Next to the King, Teyrn Loghain's the most important man in the Kingdom," Alistair said seriously. "I can't say I've ever seen them together, though, and certainly never before I came to Ostagar. They do seem to have a bit of a… personality conflict, I guess you could say?"

"I wonder if it's always been like that, or if it's mostly because Cailan's a vainglorious—" She forced the words to halt, remembering that she stood next to someone who likely didn't have the same viewpoint of those in power as she did. "Ah, improperly enthusiastic about battle."

He managed to hold back his snort, putting on a creditable mock-stern look. "He  _is_  the King, Kalindra. We should at least pretend to ignore his eccentricities. It's the least we owe him as his subjects."

Her smile faded as she remembered what the King was to the Alienage: a distant figure who never interfered when the guards harassed them, when hard workers were crippled by their employers, or when the merchants who would never dare price-gouge the shems tripled the price of food for the knife-ears to make sure they would get a profit off of their wares. Whatever hardships Alistair may have endured – and she was beginning to wonder at this point if he'd suffered  _any_ – he'd never had to watch an uncle starve himself to death to feed the children living under his roof or hold a friend's hand while her broken arm got set after 'showing disrespect' to a shem. Vaughan had been the worst of the lot, but he was by no means the  _only_  noble or authority figure that had hurt the ones she loved.

She didn't realize she'd halted, lost in her thoughts, until he heard Alistair's voice ask, "Kalindra? We're on a bit of a tight schedule—"

"I know!" she snapped. Ignoring his shocked expression, she moved past him as she whistled for Fen'len. Better to just keep ahead of him for now, and let the memories fade away…

The Tower awaited.

.~^~.

She pressed a hand to her side in an attempt to stem the bloodflow as she set the torch's flame to the strange kindling that Alistair insisted was the beacon. As the dry, treated wood flared into colorful life, she dropped the torch and danced back, covering her eyes to protect them from the sudden glare of the fire. Turning away from the conflagration, she blinked to clear her vision as Alistair closed the staring eyes of the mage with a sigh. "He's gone, then?" she asked. Fen'len trotted over to the supine figure and nudged at it with his nose, as if asking him to get up.

With a curt nod, the warrior rose and sheathed his sword in one smooth motion. "I think it was that last part," he said in a weary voice. "I can't imagine anyone could survive getting crushed by an ogre, even in full plate armor - and he had only robes, the poor bastard. Sad, really. We never even knew his name." Stumbling to Fen'len's side, he patted the dog's head and murmured wearily, "Come on, boy. There's nothing we can do for him."

Fen'len whined, then settled down on his haunches and raised his muzzle, raising an eerie howl into the night. Kalindra stared at the sight, wondering if the eldritch sensation that crept over her was because of the almost picturesque way the moonlight filtered through the window or simply lightheadedness due to blood loss. Uncertain what to say, she said the first thing that sprang into her mind. "I wonder if it was ogres Duncan was talking about when he told me there were some foes where my tree-climbing would be an advantage."

Alistair chuckled wearily as he walked towards her. "You can ask him after the battle, but I'd imagine that is precisely what he meant. So, you survived your first encounter with an ogre. Yay?"

Her laugh was cut off by a gasp of pain, and she dug her hand harder into her side. His face immediately grew concerned, and he stepped forward, reaching out as if to touch her. Retreating hurriedly, she said, "I'm fine. I just… I guess it's a good thing we don't have to rush down to join the battle."

"Of course. Right." She could tell by the set of his shoulders and the thinning of his lips that he didn't like her withdrawal, but outwardly he only shrugged and turned to the beacon. "I just hope we got that lit in time. Loghain was counting on us, and I'd hate to think we failed him or the King. You saw that line of enemies waiting to attack."

She nodded, moving to kneel next to Fen'len, who had finished his tribute to the mage and was now watching the flames of the beacon. "Yes." It had seemed impossible, a long line of torches that spread across the battlefield and back up over the hill. She'd tried to reconcile it in her mind with the plan that she'd watched Cailan and Loghain outline in that final meeting before the battle, and failed. Hopefully, Loghain wouldn't do the same. Shaking herself from her reverie, she turned and looked at her fellow Warden.

He was staring into the flame of the beacon, the light making odd shadows on his face. His gaze was distant above his frown, and she wondered what he was thinking, and if his thoughts aligned with her own. His next words confirmed her guess. "Duncan… he'll be all right, won't he?"

Before she could respond, they both heard the door at the foot of the stairs slam open, and a chill raked through her body. Without thought both of the Wardens had their blades out and ready as Fen'len growled and barked, but the first attack of the Darkspawn came not by blade but through the air. Kalindra spun helplessly before the onslaught of arrows, noticing both she and Alistair were targeted by the rain of iron, and managed to at least fall on her back to avoid digging the arrows in deeper.

A sense of the macabre swept over her with the blackness.  _Apparently, the worst_ hadn't _happened yet._


	10. Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta reader, Mille Libri!

 

* * *

I never want to see him again!  _I declare as I slam the front door behind me._

 _Mother raises an eyebrow as she looks up from her sewing to glance at me._ What has Soris done this time?

 _I hold up a bedraggled blossom._ He took my flowers and ran with them all the way from the gate to the Tree! _I stamp my foot._ I spent all morning finding them.

Finding them? _she asks in an amused tone._ I've never seen that particular bloom outside the Palace Gardens.

 _I blush._ I don't know what you're—

 _She sighs and sets aside the dress she's making for me._ Little fox, I know how clever you are and how good you are at finding your way into places you should not go.  _I hang my head, caught in the act._ Someday you will get in over your head, and I'm worried you won't have any friends to help you.

I'll always have you! _I point out swiftly._

I know. But Soris is trying to get your attention because he wants to be your friend.  _She smiles and runs her fingers through my hair before laying her hand on my cheek._ Let him be your friend. You might still disagree with him sometimes, but everyone needs a good friend. I know Shianni would prefer it if you were all friends and not enemies.

 _Although not quite the words I want to hear from her, I sigh as I realize I'm not going to win this argument._ She would, wouldn't she?  _Setting the wilting blossom aside, I nod, resigned to my fate._ I suppose I'd better try, then.

_Mother hugs me, and drives all my doubts away._

   

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

   

_She lay in the darkness. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and she could hear nothing but the blood pumping through her head. Scrabbling for a hold or a hint of what lay around her, her hands found nothing but emptiness. Her body floated in the darkness: free in movement, trapped in reality. The harder her breath labored, the more it seemed all sound dimmed, joining the utter blackness before her eyes._

_Trying to calm herself, she forced her breathing to slow, tried to remember how she had come to be here. Her hand flew to her shoulder and found wetness, and at the same moment her nose seemed to spring to life as the taste of copper flooded her mouth._ Blood. _That's right, she'd been hurt… She closed her eyes and flung her head back, hands moving all over her body as she remembered arrows… arrows and…_ Darkspawn…

 _Her mouth echoed the word in her mind, and in that instant she finally heard breathing. She froze, instinctively aware that it was not her own, but rather the deep, raspy breathing of an impossibly large animal. Somehow, it seemed to come from all around her, filling her ears and her mind with its terrible promise of death and decay. Desperately she pressed her hands to her ears, hoping to keep the sound out, to keep her sanity intact. As she did so the sensation of crawling seemed to overwhelm her skin all at once, as if an entire colony of ants moved over it, through it,_ under _it._

The taint. _The realization hit her all at once as the burning itch permeated her and sank to her very bones. Abandoning her ears, she began to scratch furiously at herself, becoming more frenzied as she found a black ichor all over her, a disgusting film that moved and shifted and_ sang…

 _Abruptly something heaved underneath her, and a rustling sound filled the large, echoing space around them. Desperately she tried to get away, tried to hide, tried to do_ anything _but remain where she was as the monster roused. A dim memory of huge wings, shredded and ripped scales, and impossibly large eyes surfaced as she suddenly saw shadows appear in the previously formless darkness. Bracing herself, she waited for whatever stirred in the shadows to reveal itself._

" _Quiet," Vaughan ordered as he gazed down at the twisted, mangled lump of flesh in his arms. "You wouldn't want to wake our baby, now, would you?"_

Kalindra jerked awake and rolled to her feet, ignoring the pain of her almost healed arrow wounds. Her hands sought weapons that she'd left under the pack which served as her pillow, and dimly she was grateful that her injuries had kept her from seeking her customary solace in the trees at night.  _I would have crashed to the ground like a sack of meal._  Her breath came in short, sharp gasps as she stared at the campfire, struggling to both comprehend and completely forget the images of her dream. A shiver shook her violently, and she wrapped her arms around her torso.

"Bad dreams, huh?"

She started and jerked her head to the side, finding Alistair sitting at apparent ease next to the fire. With only the four of them, and one a canine, it had made sense to rotate a constant guard each night on the way to Lothering.  _It must be his shift._  Shaking her head in an attempt to clear it of the vestiges of the horrific nightmare, she crept closer to the flames, hoping to drive the chill from her bones. "It seemed so real," she whispered. She kept her gaze on him rather than the fire, reaching for a dim hope that looking at him would diminish the lingering despair of the nightmare. He was real, after all.

"It  _is_ real. Well, sort of," he replied, hesitating when she shuddered violently. "At least, it is if you had the same dreams I had shortly after I became a Warden."

A macabre amusement swept through her, trailed by another shudder. "I… Honestly, I don't think that's possible." At his puzzled look, she just remained silent.

"Well… I only know what Duncan told me," he mused. "He did say that for those who become Wardens during a Blight, the dreams are more vivid, darker. See, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the Darkspawn. That's what those dreams are:  _hearing_  them. The Archdemon, it—"

"The Archdemon… No, it wasn't the Archdemon this time." Taking a deep breath, she held the breath for a while, expelling it when her body demanded more air. "It was far, far worse."

A look of sympathy was in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help you more, but I haven't been a Warden for very long. Duncan was still—" He trailed off as he turned his gaze to the fire, the flames highlighting the sheen of tears in his eyes. When he next spoke, his voice was a little rough. "I was still learning what it meant to be a Grey Warden. I'm sure he would have been able to tell you everything."

She felt her own eyes sting with unshed tears. Those moments after she'd awoken in Flemeth's hut, in pain and alone, after the attack at the top of the Tower of Ishal had been discomfiting enough. When Morrigan had told her of what had happened at Ostagar, she'd literally lost her vision before a wave of despair so black that it had left her gasping. Her life seemed cursed, somehow: her old life lost, and then everything she'd slowly built around herself in her new life taken from her before even she had learned how to live again.

Then the door had opened and  _he_  had stepped through, alive and as desperate for  _someone_  as she. Uncaring of the fact that only a fur blanket covered her, she'd reached out to him, wanting to know with absolute certainty that she was not alone, even if it was only Alistair. Just as wordlessly, he'd gone to her, kneeling next to the bed and taking her small hand in his, holding it to his chest and murmuring, over and over again,  _"You're alive."_

She wasn't alone. Alistair may not have been her  _first_  choice for companion, but he was far, far better than nothing.

Then a  _whuff_  had sounded outside the door, and Fen'len barreled in, hopping on top of the bed despite Morrigan's groan and burrowing in next to Kalindra. The solemnity of the moment had been broken, but the knowledge that she was not alone remained.

"Perhaps." The memory of that moment in Flemeth's hut made her walk over to stand beside him. Hesitantly, she put her hand on his shoulder. "I miss him."

His hand reached up and captured hers, and again, in that moment, it felt… right.  _Necessary._  "Me, too," he whispered hoarsely. "Me, too."

They stood like that for a few minutes, the physical contact enough to drive off the waking nightmares that had plagued them since waking up in Flemeth's hut. Her eyes strayed to the odd tent made of animal skins which Morrigan had set up at some distance from the fire, then moved to the Mabari collapsed nearby, paws twitching occasionally as he dreamed. Her hand tightened on his shoulder as the realization once more settled in that this was  _all_  she had, and all she could hope for.

A witch she didn't yet trust, a Mabari which could never truly be a child, and a shem – a  _human_ , she corrected herself – who had lost just as much as she had.

Not a very strong foundation for a new life, but it was enough. It  _had_  to be.

Alistair let go of her hand, apparently mistaking her squeeze as an indication that she wanted him to do so. "We'll be in Lothering soon; if not tomorrow then the day after. Given how long it took Flemeth to heal our wounds, I would imagine that Loghain and his troops will have already passed through."

 _Loghain…_  Now  _there_  was a man who had earned the permanent assignation of  _shem_  and all the evils the word implied in her mind, a position shared only with Vaughan and his ilk. "We must be cautious. I don't trust that shem any further than I can throw him. In full armor." She went back to her bedroll and eased herself down into its dubious warmth, wincing as a sharp pain lanced through her abdomen.

"Are you all right?" Alistair asked as she grimaced. "Morrigan did say you had taken more arrows than I did. Maybe you should have her look at your bandages again?"

"They're only stinging a little," she lied, resisting the urge to press against her stomach. "Not bad, it just caught me by surprise." Carefully she eased herself onto her back, closing her eyes against the pain that had dulled to a deep internal throb. "I'm sure more rest will fix it." Seeking to deflect his concern, she continued, "Hopefully there will be a smith in Lothering. Arrows are not kind to armor, I've noticed."

He snorted, and a quick peek revealed that he was smiling; a sight she abruptly realized had been a scarce event in the past couple of days. "True. About as kind as darkspawn are to Grey Wardens."

She grinned. "Right, right, the stouties and the uglies."

"Hey, you promised you wouldn't bring that up again!" he protested.

Dismissing his objection with a wave of her hand, she said, "Only when anyone else is around. I hardly think a sleeping Mabari qualifies."

"No, but—" he stopped when she yawned hugely. "All right, all right, I can take a hint about how boring I am."

"I'm sorry, I'm just—" She yawned again. Morrigan had warned Kalindra that she would need more sleep after her healing, but she hadn't quite believed the witch until the first night after they left the Wilds. Alistair had barely managed to catch her from an ignominious faceplant in the dirt as she fell asleep between one step and the next. Unfortunately, her instinctive response to his touch had led to a large bruise on his arm and an awkward apology from her. Still, they'd smoothed it over the next day, and now… Well, she wasn't sure what  _now_  was, but at least she wasn't alone.

Her thoughts drifted as she fell asleep, the pain in her torso slowly fading into the background as the depths of sleep rose around her. Her last thought was a vague hope that something good would come out of Lothering.  _Even if it's just a tent_.

_I think we're overdue for a little bit of hope._

.~^~.

"Nicely done avoiding those bandits," Alistair said as he dusted off his hands, his grin evident as he sent a mischievous glance to the woman picking herself up from the ground nearby. "Going  _around_  – who would have thought it would _work_."

Morrigan exhaled in frustration as one particular patch of dirt failed to come off her knee, evidence of her rather graceless landing when she'd navigated over the wall. "Did we  _really_  have to go down a ten-foot drop to do so? They certainly did not appear to pose any true threat. One hint that I was a mage and—"

"—and they might have gone to fetch the nearest Templar, even if they are bandits," Kalindra pointed out. "And then the Chantry would have gotten involved, and possibly Loghain's men, if they are around. You said yourself that Lothering is the only place that he could have resupplied, didn't you?" At Morrigan's reluctant nod, she shook her head. "I'm not saying we couldn't have done something about the bandits. I'm just saying that my whole life has taught me that a low profile is better than notice. Besides, they're probably extorting money from refugees, and we need all we have just to repair our armor."

"They'd  _steal_ from refugees?" Alistair seemed aghast. "Why would— _Who_  would do such a thing?"

Kalindra shrugged. "Desperate men." Her eyes lingered on the wall for a moment, remembering a life that had skirted the straight and narrow in Denerim, and shook her head. "Come on. My nose tells me we're close to the refugee camp."

Wincing, Morrigan said plaintively, "Did you have to remind me?"

The smell of a hastily arranged, poorly devised encampment had been in the air all day, though the others had initially been ignorant as to what it implied. Kalindra had been using it as a rough estimate for when they would arrive at Lothering, since she assumed that all the humans that fled the Darkspawn would also pass through the only settlement worth noticing for miles around. Certainly the rude farmsteads and lone huts they'd passed on the way had been stripped of anything useful, either by their owners or others who had passed through after they'd been abandoned. Alistair had sent reproachful glances her way when they'd searched the first few empty dwellings, but Kalindra knew that deep down, everyone became a thief when certain conditions were met.

Fen'len sneezed and sighed mournfully, looking up at her as if begging not to go closer to the horrific smell of human effluence and rotting trash. She patted his head sympathetically, but knew that they  _had_  to approach Lothering through the refugee camp. In her mind, a man who could betray his King and his own troops was capable of anything, and until they knew why Loghain had done what he'd done, she preferred to work by thieves' rules.

As she pondered their next step, she heard Morrigan and Alistair talking behind her.  _Arguing_  would perhaps have been a better word, based on their tone. As she forced her attention on their words and away from her musings, she heard Alistair ask, "Just what would you do if your mother died?"

Morrigan chuckled. "Before or after I stopped laughing?"

"Enough," Kalindra snapped, and the witch started slightly at harshness in her voice. "I don't care where that conversation started, and I don't care to hear it continue." Somewhere deep in her mind, she again saw the final blow kill her mother, and felt her hand twitch as it remembered dealing the same stroke to a particular shem years later. "We need to figure out what's going on in Lothering – as quietly as possible. If Loghain's still there…" Trailing off, she saw their understanding nods. She looked at Morrigan's lush curves and exotic clothing – and the staff across her back – with a raised eyebrow. "Forgive me, but I hardly think you would escape notice. And you, Alistair… Quite frankly, I don't think you have the right skills for this."

"I'll agree with that," Alistair said as Morrigan murmured, "An astute observation." The man glared at Morrigan before turning to Kalindra again. "And as much as I hate to send you in there alone, I do agree that you'll have the best chance of finding out what we need to know without attracting any unfortunate attention. Still…" He looked her up and down.

"I know, armor is noticeable. I intend to… ah, acquire some clothing from the refugee camp." At Alistair's puzzled look, she said, "Remember the Korcari Wilds?"

"Oh. Oh!" The memory of her disappearing from view came back to him, and he looked away uncomfortably. Morrigan looked thoughtfully at Kalindra for a moment, but didn't say anything as Alistair objected, "But that's steal—"

"We don't have time for such petty considerations," Morrigan interrupted. "There will be thousands, if not tens of thousands, of refugees in Ferelden before this Blight is over, but never more than you two Grey Wardens. You have to set aside your Chantry sensibilities or we'll get nowhere very quickly."

Kalindra let her silence express her agreement with the woman's words as she turned back to the camp. Quickly she knelt by Fen'len. "Stay here, boy," she murmured. "Elves usually don't have a Mabari trailing after them."

He whined a bit, then heaved a sigh and went to Alistair, bumping against him for a few scratches. The man smiled and obliged. "I wish I were as adept at getting attention."

"It's the puppy dog eyes," Kalindra returned as she started to walk away. "Good luck with getting those." Alistair replied, but she didn't hear him as she concentrated on finding that pocket her mother had taught her and slipped into the space that left her invisible to the notice of most people.

Just in time, too. As she crested the hill, she saw a mass of haphazard tents, stinking pits, and listless people, all jumbled together without rhyme or reason. This close, the stench almost gagged her, and she worked her tongue in her mouth to prevent herself from succumbing to nausea as she entered the outskirts of the refugee camp. Carefully and silently she wove through the morass, startled to see some familiar faces as she recognized some of the elven servants from Ostagar. A faint hope stirred, and she started looking for more than just a change of clothing, hunting for a specific face in the sea of people.

The clothing turned out to be relatively easy to find – finding a set she was willing to wear was another matter entirely, as most of the clothing hanging to dry had been washed in the stream that had served as bath and washing water for a growing number of people – and was a large part of the horrific smell that lingered in the area. Finally she found something that had apparently been washed by someone smart enough to go upstream, and was also conveniently near the shadow cast by a tent. Grasping the dress without making it move overly much, she moved as close to it as she could and slowly extended the Shadow she was in over the clothing, waiting until it was almost faded from sight before snapping it free of the clothesline and bundling it quickly into her stomach. Turning, she moved with some haste away, heading back to her two companions so she could leave her armor in a safe location.

A voice caught her attention just as she was about to leave the camp, and she instinctively sought the source. Relief washed over her when she saw her old friend waving to someone else in the camp. Bedraggled hair, patched clothes, and evident bruises and scrapes over her face and arms: it didn't matter, as long as Nessa was alive. Kalindra watched long enough to get an idea of where Nessa was heading, then hurried away, wanting to enter the camp legitimately more than ever.

When she eased out of the Shadow, the shivering set in, and she bundled the dress around her neck in an attempt to offset the cold. When she came in sight of the two waiting for her, she realized she must have looked odd based on the expressions as they both tilted their heads slightly. "It's a dress. Don't look at me like that." Taking the dress away from her neck and shaking it loose in front of her, she frowned. "A dress with a lot of buttons on the back. Morrigan-?"

"Yes, of course," the woman said. Stepping forward, she took the garment from Kalindra, who started to remove her gloves. She hadn't gotten very far when she stopped, and the thought of Alistair  _watching_  her—more specifically, watching her disrobe— made her skin run cold and her breath come in short gasps. An echo of a too-familiar pain seized her stomach and her vision blurred before she squeezed her eyes shut. It was a disturbingly familiar condition, though it usually only struck her when she contemplated bathing or woke up from her frequent nightmares. As before when she was rendered helpless by the terror, she had no control of her own body for the space of a few breaths.

She didn't know how long she stood there, though she was vaguely aware of Fen'len coming to her side and nudging her thigh with his head. When she finally managed to open her eyes, it was to the sight of her fellow Warden standing a few feet away, a concerned look on his face.

"Go away!" she gasped, and he took a step back, startled by her vehemence. "Just—go over there, behind those boulders." When he didn't move, she groaned and buried her face in her hands. " _Please,_  Alistair."

"All right, I'm going. I was just—" He stopped as Kalindra turned her back to him abruptly, and his next words were edged with anger. "You know what? Fine. I'll go  _over there_. Whistle when you need me, I suppose. I promise I'll come running."

She felt guilty, knowing that he was equating himself to the Mabari, but she couldn't tell him what had happened because she'd have to tell him  _why._  Wrapping her arms around herself, she ignored the pain as the edges of the metal in her armor dug into her flesh and ducked her head.

And nearly jumped out of her skin when Morrigan observed dryly, "Before I left the Wilds, I'd never met a man of any particular worth. And now that I've left the Wilds, I  _still_  haven't."

Kalindra laughed weakly, both at the words and her own startled reaction to the witch's forgotten presence. "I have. I… I'm not certain of that particular shem,"  _yet_ , "but Duncan held him in regard, so… so I'll give him a chance."  _I just wish I could see more of Daveth in him, and less of…_  Shaking her head clear of the memories, she began divesting herself of her armor. "I need to find out what's going on in Lothering. The sooner we can resupply and leave, the better."

A few minutes later saw her in an ill-fitting dress that was loose around her upper torso and tight around her hips. After a bit of grumbling and adjusting and finally resignation that it couldn't be fixed without needle and thread, she carefully rolled up her armor and tucked her daggers and amulets deep into its folds. The boning knife she managed to slip into the pocket of the dress, which made her feel better about going into Lothering by herself.

Then she braced herself before following Alistair.

He was standing with his back against the tall rock, staring into the distance with his mouth in a flat line. As she approached, she saw his eyes flick to her, then away again, and she winced inwardly. Shifting on her feet, her eyes fell to the burden she bore, then back to him as she squared her shoulders. "I'm sorry."

There was no immediate answer, but he at least he looked at her rather than deliberately ignoring her. Finally he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Does this have to happen every single day, Kalindra?" he asked. The frustration was clear in his voice, and she looked away again, once more fighting herself to see him as a fellow Warden, a companion, a student of Duncan's… and not a shem. "I mean, I just can't do anything right by you, can I? There've been moments where I felt like we could at least  _talk_  to each other, but then… then something  _happens._  It's like you go behind a wall or something, and I never know if you'll emerge a friend or a foe."

He was right. The brief peace they'd found with each other next to the campfire that first night out of the Wilds had been the exception rather than the rule. On the way to Lothering, they'd sparred and argued and disagreed at practically every turn. He didn't seem to hold her in as much dislike as he held Morrigan, but perhaps that was because of the odd moments when they  _weren't_  fighting. Every time she climbed a tree to get their bearings, for example, he'd wait at the bottom on the off-chance she'd lose her grip – and the one time she had, he'd been there to catch her.

An odd memory to have at this moment – when he was glaring at her with such anger and confusion – but a comforting one. When she'd been in his arms, hands grasping his shoulders as her body recovered from the shock of banging against a few branches on the way down, their eyes had met. In that instant, she'd felt the camaraderie they shared more than the differences. They were both Duncan's recruits, after all, and the last Grey Wardens of Ferelden. Together they had survived Ostagar and waves of darkspawn foes, and shared the common goals of the end of the Blight and the death of the Archdemon. Deep down, she'd felt the ultimate connection: the unspoken knowledge of the cost of failure, and the resolve they both had to do all in their power to prevent it. No words had been necessary. She'd felt it in the way he'd gripped her tightly; in the worry on his face; and in the way she was able to forget, at least for a time, that he was anything but a friend.

Now… Well, that moment had long passed, and now she was again confronted with his anger. Part of her wondered how much of it was fed by a feeling of helplessness, as hers often was, but mostly she just felt guilty at how she'd recently treated him. No matter what provocation he'd given her before, he had truly not been to blame this time. She opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. More than having no idea of what to say, her throat had tightened so much that she couldn't have gotten them out had she been able to formulate a coherent sentence. Swallowing harshly a few times, she was able to manage, "I'm s-so—"

"You're sorry, yes, I know. But I don't  _want_  that, I want—" He looked away again, expression distant. "Never mind. It's not important, I guess. You're the leader now, so—"

"What?" That startled her out of her speechlessness.

"Well, it's obvious to me that you deserve the position. I was just ready to walk into Lothering without a care in the world. Well, with no more cares than what we already bear, anyway. You're the one who recognized what that awful smell really  _meant_ , you figured out how to avoid the bandits, you're the one who has the plan to learn about what's going on without announcing our presence – or that of our apostate companion – to Thedas at large." He shrugged, though the motion was still tight with tension. "I'm not a leader. I never have been. I always thought I would follow Duncan—"

Sympathy moved through her as he swallowed and looked down, knowing he suffered from a different emotion than anger, this time. And she  _did_  agree with his logic. After all, she'd pretty much taken over their group in the Korcari Wilds, and Morrigan had already shown more willingness to follow her lead than his. She suspected she was older than he was, too, though they'd never been friendly enough to sit down and compare birth years. "All right. I'll accept that, if you accept my apology."

"Oh, aren't you the clever one?" When he looked up, a grin was on his face, but the hurt wasn't quite gone from his eyes. "Very well, I accept." He held out his hands. "And I'll watch over that while you go gather information." When she settled her bundle into his hands, he hesitated a moment, then leaned in and said quietly, "Come back safe. Please."

It was… too intense, but she didn't want to brush him off like she had before. Quickly she tried to think of a way to lighten the mood without dismissing the very real fear he'd revealed to her and without showing the discomfort she  _still_  felt when he got too close. "Of course I'll stay safe. I still need to see you wear a dress and dance the remigold, now, don't I?"

That got a laugh out of him, a real one. "Oh, Maker,  _please_  don't say you're going to hold me to that!"

"We'll see," she said mysteriously, glad that they were on civil terms once more. "I shouldn't be too long. This is just a scouting mission, after all."

"On your way, then," he grunted, though the grin lingered. "And mind you come back in one piece."

"So long as you don't go to pieces on me," she retorted as she turned and walked away. As his laughter followed her, she wondered again at this oddity of a relationship she had with the sh— _Alistair._ So many hours and days of frustration and fear, but when they both tried, when she saw Alistair rather than the shem, it was almost like having Daveth back.

_Almost._

Her hand stole to the small pouch of ashes that she'd tucked away into the dress, a burden too precious to trust to anyone's care but her own, and she rubbed Nelaros' ring against the rough linen. When she reached the top of the small hill that led to the camp, she paused and closed her eyes, again calling up their faces in the darkness behind her eyelids. Nelaros she mourned because he had seemed to be a fine man, a husband she would have been proud to have at her side and as father to her child. Daveth… She felt the slight pricking behind her eyes and quickly blinked her eyes rapidly, holding the tears back. No, she wasn't quite ready to deal with Daveth's death yet. Though Nelaros had been the answer to a dream, Daveth had been  _real_ , a constant companion for years, and she could not yet bring herself to say a final farewell.

A chance gust of wind brought the smell of the refugee camp's effluence to her nose, and she was torn out of her reverie with an abrupt cough.  _Right._  With a quick nod of her head, she stepped forward, mind again on the near future rather those that had been lost.


	11. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lothering proves to be a bit of a challenge on many levels, not the least of which is who can Kalindra trust?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta reader, Mille Libri!

 

* * *

But—!  _I start to protest._

No buts, little fox. You can't give her your favorite toy for a week, then run to her two days early and take it back because you think she'll hurt it. _Mother crosses her arms across her chest and looks at me sternly._ You either trust Shianni, or you do not.

 _I bite my lip. When she puts it that way_ _…_  But what if she breaks it? _I wail. The porcelain doll is one of my treasures, something Mother brought with her from the faraway land where she was born, and irreplaceable._

You either trust Shianni,  _she repeats quietly,_ or you do not.

 _I look down at my hands, clasped tightly in front of me. It is the anniversary of her parent_ _'s deaths, and I know Shianni needs something special to hold onto, some proof that someone loves her still even though her parents are gone. And it is only a doll. And she is Shianni._

I trust her, _I whisper quietly._ I love her.

 _She kneels in front of me and hugs me close._ Then have patience, little fox. And trust those you love.

.

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

.

When Kalindra returned to the refugee camp, she headed towards where she'd last seen her quarry. Her conversation with Alistair, though necessary, had taken more time than she'd planned, and she was afraid her old friend might be impossible to find without additional inquiry – attention she'd rather avoid. She kept her chin down, letting her hastily rearranged hair curtain her face to hide the scars rather than revealing them, as had become her habit since Dunngath. Caution also slouched her shoulders, forcing her body to change the way it moved. She'd rather be clumsy than be identified as someone who could use weapons with skill. She hoped that she herself wouldn't be recognized, new to Ostagar as she had been, but she also knew soldiers and others trained to arms could recognize a fellow fighter by stride alone if they possessed a keen enough eye.

" _Appearances can be deceiving,"_  Slim's voice echoed in her head as she picked her way through the morass of humans and elves,  _"so it is best to be the deceiver."_  The advice had served her well on more occasions than she could readily recall, and served her well as she saw eyes again and again slide off of her, dismissing her as just another elf fleeing the Darkspawn.

A flash of red hair caught her attention, and she altered her path to intercept it, carefully maintaining her awkward posture and shy demeanor. Relief flooded through her when she found Nessa deep in conversation with her own mother, and she pondered how best to catch only Nessa's attention when the woman stood and turned around, face intent. Quickly Kalindra moved to a location out of sight of Nessa's mother, and waited.

When Nessa passed within a couple of feet, Kalindra reached out and took her arm, voice quiet as she said, "Nessie?" It was a nickname her friend abhorred as much as Kalindra hated to be called Kallie, but she was certain that no one else would know the name outside of those still in Denerim. Nessa gasped and turned to her, eyes wide, before suddenly embracing her. A bit taken aback, Kalindra returned the gesture, patting Nessa on the back in a comforting manner. After a few silent moments, she ventured, "I'm glad you made it out."

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you," Nessa whispered, a quiver in her tone. After another moment, she pulled back, wiping at her cheeks, and beamed a smile at her. "Come on, let's find someplace more private to talk." Her eyes darted quickly around the camp. "And we  _do_  need to talk."

Not completely reassured by this declaration, Kalindra followed her, alert and wary for an indication that someone had noticed anything out of ordinary besides two friends reunited. By the time Nessa halted beside a copse of trees, she was fairly certain no one had noticed, but Nessa's obvious discomfort disquieted her. As soon as they drew to a full stop, she asked, "What's wrong? Why are you so nervous?"

"It's Loghain," Nessa replied in a low voice, not missing a beat. "He announced that the Grey Wardens were responsible for the death of King Cailan, and then put a price on your heads. A fairly substantial one, at that. One that any number of people here in this very camp would be more than willing to collect."

Kalindra felt her blood turn cold. Her worst fears were confirmed, though she wasn't particularly surprised. Loghain needed a scapegoat to explain Cailan's death and deflect attention away from his own actions at Ostagar. "He really doesn't believe it's a Blight," she murmured, disbelief warring with resignation at the realization.  _Why else make it more difficult for those of us who are supposed to end it?_

Confused, Nessa said, "What?"

"Nothing." She shook her head. "Were there any descriptions?"

Nessa nodded. "And I recognized yours right away."

"Let me guess: an elf woman with scars on her face." She grimaced when Nessa nodded again. "That makes it harder for me to get around." She reached up and tugged at her bangs. "Does the hair work to cover them up?"

Pursing her lips, her friend reached out and ran her fingers through Kalindra's hair for a few moments, tweaking the ends here and there. "Not for any long period of time, but certainly for first glances and impressions it will. I'd suggest braiding your hair to disguise its length, but I remember how stubborn your hair is about being contained." A grin tugged at her lips.

Kalindra sighed. "And still is." Any attempt to braid her long tresses came undone within an hour, even when tightly wound. She could lash it into a tail, but even then much of it would escape by the end of the day. "Who else? I mean, who else did they describe? And did they use names?"

"Names, yes, though only two names and descriptions. Yours and that Warden you were looking for before, Alistair." Kalindra kept her face neutral when Nessa gave her a questioning glance as if to ask if he were still alive, and Nessa only hesitated a moment before continuing. "Yours is the most distinctive. I mean, Alistair is described, but trying to find a  _specific_  tall man of strong build with brown hair in Ferelden is a bit more like finding a needle in a haystack than trying to find..." Her eyes traced the scars on Kalindra's face. "It's not like Wardens have a tattoo or something, so at least there's nothing definitive. But I would be cautious. Very cautious. Even the Templars were told to keep a watch for Grey Wardens and detain them. I overheard the order when I went to the Chantry to see if they had any food or water for the refugees." She snorted. "What a wasted trip that was. The sister had just given some bread to some shem in front of me, but as soon as they saw my ears, they suddenly had nothing to give out."

"At least in Denerim we had Mother Boann. She tried, at least, poor woman." A smile came to her face as she thought of the hardworking woman, one of the only Chantry clergy she'd ever met that she respected. A good portion of Kalindra's earnings had circumspectly been funneled through Mother Boann to fund food and supplies for the orphanage in the Alienage. The smile faded into a frown as she wondered who would take care of the orphans now. Life in the Alienage was difficult enough, but surviving without parents was impossible without another's aid. Shaking her head to push the unwelcome thought away, she focused on Nessa. "Tell me, how did you escape? When I heard about what happened at Ostagar, I—"

"Thought I was dead? I thought the same of you." Again they exchanged a quick embrace. "I actually owe it all to a shem, of all things. We made it out of Ostagar because one of Loghain's lieutenants, Ser Cauthrien, assigned a squad of soldiers to escort all the servants to a staging area north of Ostagar just as the battle was getting underway. The squad said that we were just supposed to wait there until it was safe to return to camp – after the battle was won, I mean – but the next thing we knew, Ser Cauthrien herself appeared with another squad and told us to follow her. We had to leave everything but our money and what we could grab easily behind, but we managed. We didn't know at the time what had happened in the battle – we just assumed that it had gone poorly. Then we started hearing what the men said, about leaving everyone behind without a fight…"

"Did they all feel that way?" Kalindra asked quickly. Surely they couldn't  _all_  blame the Wardens…

"Well, no. Some of them – especially the officers – felt that Loghain made the right choice, that it would have been suicide to enter the battle. Others, mostly those who had lost friends or family, think it's just a bid for the throne through his daughter, the Queen. Then there are those who say they don't have the right to judge, that he's the General and whatever he decided was right. I do know that…" She gulped, her face paling a little bit. "…that some of the survivors from Ostagar reached us. They… they had to be killed."

"The taint," Kalindra whispered. Duncan had warned her about what could happen to someone who was exposed to the taint and spent too long near Darkspawn or in blighted lands. "I'm glad you made it out alive."

"Well, we couldn't keep up with them for the whole trip. Father twisted his ankle, so we we were forced to slow down. He wasn't the only one the army left behind, either, even though a couple of soldiers from Highever volunteered to stay with us. Their lieutenant said they had better things to do than 'waste time on that trash.'" Suddenly her eyes glistened and her voice hitched. "A few of the other servants stayed with us, to help us reach Lothering. We would have been fine except for the bandits. And even then, if Father had just… had just done what they  _said_ _…_ " The tears spilled over, and Nessa leaned against Kalindra, sobbing into her shoulder.

 _He must have been killed,_  she thought, and the rage flared within, deep down. "They took all you had and more?" Her arms wrapped around Nessa, and she thought about the bruises and scrapes on her body. When the first bout of crying had lessened, she asked in a gentle voice, "They didn't—"

"N-no, b-but only be-because they saw m-more people coming." Nessa leaned back and rubbed her nose and face on her sleeve, since a kerchief was a luxury she could only dream of in her current circumstances. "I g-guess they figured money was m-more important than… than  _that_. Poor Mother…"

Kalindra's mind was working furiously. Without money, food, or transport, there was no possible way Nessa and her mother would survive long enough to reach the next town, much less return to Denerim or make it to Highever. "These bandits… they were on the main road coming in?"

"Y-yes. I'm surprised they didn't go after you."

"We avoided them." She mentally cursed a moment as she realized that she'd just confirmed she wasn't alone, then realized she'd have to extend  _some_  trust in this situation.  _Better to give it to someone I at least already know._  "Listen, we were going to try to resupply and get our armor fixed here."

"Good luck with that," Nessa muttered. "If you're not a shem, you won't get help. And since the only shem with you is probably a Grey Warden…"

Kalindra nodded, preferring not to mention that her  _other_  companion was an apostate, and even  _less_  welcome than Grey Wardens were at the moment. "I know. But there's another source of funds that could help us both. I'm good at  _certain_  kinds of persuasion, after all."

Her friend's eyes widened as she absorbed Kalindra's meaning. "You mean—" Clutching at her arm, Nessa's face grew very intent. "Promise me you'll kill the leader. He was the one who struck the blow. He  _laughed_."

"They'll die like the dogs they are, I promise you," she whispered. "And I'll come back with something for you. I won't let you starve or stay here to die, not if I can prevent it." For a moment, Nessa's face wavered in front of her, replaced by a head with hair of purer red and green eyes.  _Shianni._  Blinking rapidly, she shook her head to dismiss the vision. She would have helped Nessa regardless of her past promises to others, of course, but she couldn't deny that the small lingering love for her cousin guided her actions here. "Go wait with your mother."

Nessa nodded, tears threatening again, and hugged Kalindra wordlessly before letting her go.

Her caution redoubled, Kalindra left the camp, even going so far as to wait for a few moments just out of sight over its outskirts to make sure she hadn't been followed. By the time she had returned to her companions, the anger was burning in her chest, swelling from the painful knot in her stomach to spread like a tingling haze through the rest of her body. She would make the shems pay.

They would  _all_  pay.

.~^~.

The fight was short and dirty, a brevity aided by the fact that she recognized the amulet hanging around the bandit leader's neck as a necklace she herself had given to Nessa. Too valuable to wear openly in the Alienage save for festivals and other special occasions, it was precisely the kind of item a desperate daughter would give up to save her father's life. The rage induced by that single thought enabled Kalindra to ignore the surprise on the bandits' faces when she attacked without provocation, to discount their claims of wives and children, and to work past the pain as an arrow found her arm and a blade slipped past her defenses enough to graze her neck before being swatted away.

Only when they all lay dead at her feet, when she could kneel next to the still form of Nessa's father to straighten his limbs and close his staring eyes, when she'd ripped the amulet from around the neck of the bandit leader and shoved it into the pouch around her waist, only then did the pain penetrate, both from her wounds and from her gut. Ignoring Morrigan as the witch came to her side to tend to the arrow, she dropped her daggers and sat back on her heels, staring blankly at the windmill in the distance. Fen'len came up to her with a whine, licking at the blood on her arms and face before being shooed away by the golden-eyed mage.

"The drool of that mangy beast will surely do your wounds no good," Morrigan muttered as her fingers edged around the arrow embedded in Kalindra's arm. "You should have waited for the fool to engage them first. Useless as he is otherwise, he is at least good for—" Kalindra turned to stare at the woman, and something in the elf's gaze made Morrigan's mouth snap shut and tend to the wound with a renewed focus.

Alistair, however, felt no such need to hide his displeasure. As his now-clean sword slid home into its sheath, he glared at her from his position a few feet away. "You could have been killed, charging at them alone like that!"

She turned her gaze to him, staring at him dully. She vaguely knew that normally she would have met his anger with anger of her own, but suddenly it just all felt so… useless. Without thought for her words, she whispered, "And if I had?"

The words were like a blow: the man literally staggered backwards, eyes widening. After a quick moment he recovered, ignoring Morrigan's presence, as he knelt and seized one of Kalindra's hands, expression a mixture of agony and pleading. He waited until her gaze reluctantly rose to meet his, then tightened his grip.  _"You're alive,"_  he whispered. "I need you to stay that way."

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she recalled that raw moment when he'd burst through the door of the hut in the Wilds, the pain still on his face after being informed that all the other Wardens - his family - had been killed at Ostagar. She swallowed harshly, unable to avert her eyes, and finally nodded, knowing the gesture to be a promise.

He squeezed her hand again, then rose, ears a bit red as he finally broke eye contact. "I'll, uh… I'll just look around a bit, shall I?"

His obvious awkwardness made a brief smile come to her lips as she watched him bend over the bandits and dig through their pockets with a grimace. As the focus required for battle faded, the pain increased, and she winced as Morrigan closed a bandage tight around her arm with a final tug. "Thank you, Morrigan. You've clever hands."

The golden eyes blinked. "I—I thank you." Her surprise at the compliment made Kalindra realize how little they had spoken outside of empty conversation, small talk which the woman always seemed to bow out of quickly.

 _I really should speak with her more,_  Kalindra mused. It wasn't the woman's fault she had basically been foisted on them by her mother. Kalindra had noticed that Morrigan never sought either herself or Alistair out for conversation, but perhaps that was more habit than anything else. After all, she'd grown up with Flemeth. Still, she didn't feel like talking at this exact moment, so she waited silently as Morrigan tended to her neck before rising to her feet. "I'll need to return to Lothering in that dress, so hopefully the bandages won't show too much. I'm hoping I'll be able to get a cart or something to take our supplies in to the smith. I hardly think an elf could carry two suits of armor into the village unnoticed." She sighed and rubbed her eyes for a moment as she hitched her shoulder to ease the ache in her arm. "Or carry them both at all, with this arm." A sigh escaped her. "Let's go get me in that dress."

Later, clad once more in the ill-fitting cotton dress with the liberated coins wrapped silently into two separate pouches and her hair splashed around her shoulders to hide the injuries, she re-entered the refugee camp. Again, she appeared awkward in gait, head ducked down as was the habit of those elven girls with limited mental capacity, and searched for a glimpse of her friend.

Just when she was starting to wonder if perhaps Nessa had returned to the village proper, she saw a flash of red hair In the distance amidst a copse of trees next to the river and headed towards it with an internal sigh of relief. Yet when she came closer, her feet slowed. She had found Nessa, but the red hair she'd spotted from the distance belonged to another: a female shem wearing Chantry robes, no less. Before she could turn away, however, Nessa's face lit up and waved at her, then beckoned her closer.

For a moment, she hesitated, and a memory rose in her head: the people of the Alienage fleeing before Vaughan, afraid to defend one of their own before the swords and tyranny of the shem lord.  _Surely Nessa wouldn_ _'t—_

Shaking her head and firming her jaw, Kalindra stepped forward.  _No. Not Nessa. That I won_ _'t believe._  Perhaps it had been just as well that Nessa had left the Alienage when she had, given that she had a temperament to match that of Shianni. Dismissing the thought as the reproachful face of Nessa's father rose in her mind, Kalindra came to a halt near the two women, looking the stranger over carefully.

Her unease grew as she noticed several disquieting details about the red-haired newcomer: the callouses on her hands, the light lines of scars on her face and neck, and the frank manner in which the shem appraised Kalindra in return.  _This is no mere Chantry sister._ Before she could decide whether to run or stay, however, Nessa spoke.

"This is the friend I was telling you about. Shianni."

Relief flooded through Kalindra at those simple words, coupled with a wave of contrition at having doubted her friend. Pushing it aside, she turned and smiled at the woman, nodding her head in greeting. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sister."

"I am pleased to meet you, Shianni," the woman said in cultured tones. The Orlesian accent startled Kalindra - she'd heard it only rarely in Denerim, mainly from Slim's 'special' agent in Anora's household. It seemed genuine, but she was certainly no certain judge. "My name is Leliana."

"Sister Leliana came to the camp to tell me about a caravan leaving Lothering soon to go to Denerim. She heard the Sister in the Chantry refuse me aid, and wanted to make amends." Nessa was beaming, a hint of moisture in her eyes. "They even have a cart Mother can ride in. I don't think she could make the journey on foot. I just need some money—"

The red-haired woman waved Nessa's concern away with a gesture, reaching for her coin pouch. "I told you, I will arrange it. The Chantry loves all her children, and Sister Nora was wrong to deny your simple request." She held out some coins to Nessa. "Please. This should be enough for you and your Mother, and Shianni as well."

"Me?" Kalindra asked before she could stifle it, and bit her lip.  _Of course the Sister would assume I would be accompanying them._  "Ah, I mean, that won't be necessary, Sister. I will be able to pay the way." She grasped the smaller pouch, tied shut with Nessa's necklace, and gave it to her friend with a firm nod.

Her friend looked curiously at the necklace, then gasped and closed her hands tightly around it. "You—" She stopped herself, glancing at Leliana, then smiled at Kalindra, tears leaking down her cheeks. "I need to fetch Mother. The sister says the caravan is leaving soon, and I don't want to miss this chance, not after… Oh, thank you!" Abruptly Kalindra found herself in a tight embrace.  _"Thank you,"_  Nessa whispered again.  _"For everything. I will see you in Denerim."_ She pressed her lips against Kalindra's temple and cheek, then stepped back. "And thank you, Sister!"

"Of course, child. Now go prepare your mother for the journey."

With a quick nod, Nessa scooted past Kalindra and disappeared from sight quickly.

Leliana smiled after her, then looked at Kalindra. "She seems like a good friend. Something which you sorely need at the moment, Grey Warden."

A cold chill ran through Kalindra, and she looked at the woman sharply. "I don't know—"

"Please, Warden. You are very distinctive in appearance, as you must know. I didn't realize that the mysterious Shianni would prove to be the very one I sought, but I am glad. Besides," she added, spreading her hands wide, "I mean you no harm. In fact, I wish to help you."

Warily, Kalindra took a step back, glancing for the quickest way to leave and praying fervently this wasn't an ambush. "And why should I believe you?"

"Because I had a dream! A vision!" Her voice rang with sincerity. "The Maker told me to help you, to go with you, that I may help you abate the darkness that spreads across the land!"

Kalindra blinked.  _A vision?_  "That's a very… bold claim," she offered.

The woman laughed, a crystal clear sound in the quiet of the copse. "I know it sounds insane, but it's true. I know you cannot go into Lothering because of the bounty on your head. Let me help you! I can be your agent there, to assist you as you require. Helping Nessa was going to be my last act before leaving Lothering, so the very fact that the Maker saw fit to put me in your path means my vision must be true!"

Fighting the urge to bite her lip in amusement at the woman's dogged insistence, Kalindra forced a thoughtful look on her face as she considered the matter. The woman… well, her claim may have been preposterous, but her generosity to Nessa was not pretend, and it was true that Kalindra desperately needed exactly what the woman offered. The senses honed over the years of working with the criminal element of Denerim also did not raise any alarms about her behavior - other than her belief in the Maker, that is, but she was hardly alone in that regard. "It is true we could use your help." Now she did bite her lip, but it was in genuine calculation rather than amusement as she considered her own - well, her and her friends' - predicament. She sighed.  _We simply have no other viable option._  She just couldn't afford to pass up this chance if it were genuine.

And if it proved false, well… she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

.~^~.

As Leliana trundled away with their armor and weapons in a cart, Alistair shot her a dubious look from where he stood at her side. "Are you sure about this? I thought we were all full up for crazy."

"I thought all you shems believed in the Maker," she replied, the corner of her lips tugging upwards.

"Well… belief in the Maker is one thing. I don't wait around waiting for his mellifluous voice to fill my dreams and command unto me what to do next." He grinned as Kalindra giggled. "I mean, it might be a bit awkward when the stouties and the uglies catch up with us if we're just sitting in the middle of nowhere, twiddling our thumbs while hoping for divine orders from the Big Guy in the Fade."

She laughed, grateful for the distraction of his silliness. "We could just tell them it was all a misunderstanding. I'm sure they'd be willing to go back to the Deep Roads and wait patiently until we get our marching orders. They've been so considerate of our schedule so far, after all."

"Oh, right, how could I forget? Those arrows only hit the places where it was really painful, but not where they could actually kill us. Yay for us." He winked at her with a broad smile. "And that ogre? He was just trying to say hello, but forgot how to do a proper handshake. 'Shake only one hand, not the whole body'—that's all we needed to tell him. Simple, really."

By this point they were both laughing, but Kalindra was laughing so hard she had to gasp for breath. It felt  _good_  to laugh, to be  _alive._  The sun fell in a warm glow on her skin, the wind played with the errant trails of her hair, and the dimming pain of her earlier wounds remained a distant reminder that though she might get stung, she needn't give up. She looked up at her fellow Grey Warden, considering him for a moment, then reached over and put her hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "I'm alive," she told him.

The mirth in his eyes faded as he became more serious. Carefully he put his hand on hers and pressed lightly around it. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I truly mean it. I don't know if I could lose you, too, not after…" His voice trailed away, his eyes locked with hers,

"I know," she replied. Duncan - more specifically, his loss - still loomed large for both of them. Someday she would ask him how Duncan had come to mean so much to him, and perhaps she would tell him the same. For now, no further words were required to share their sorrow at his death, and each took a small amount of solace in the knowledge they at least had a fellow Warden in the other. They stood like that for a quiet moment, the wind and the sun encapsulating them in a pocket of unlikely normalcy. Finally, and for the first time, she truly saw Alistair; though the dark brown hair and hazel eyes remained unchanged, she now also saw the worry lines on his forehead, the laugh lines next to his eyes and around his mouth, and the glint of his teeth as his lips settled into a little half-smile. She offered a tremulous smile as she said, "I miss him, too."

Unspoken was the truth she had trouble admitting, even to herself:she missed Duncan far more than she missed her own father.

She looked away from Alistair, the unwanted thought intruding into the odd peace that had settled over them. Tugging her hand away, she cleared her throat and pointed to the windmill. "Come on, let's go. That's where Leliana said she'd meet us, at the base of the windmill."

"Let us move, then," Morrigan interjected. "For a moment, I thought you were going to kiss the fool. We certainly have more important matters to attend to than that."

Kalindra froze. Sharing a sense of loss was one thing, but intimacy… She stepped away from Alistair as a shudder swept through her body, and she used the momentum to turn and head toward the slowly turning blades of the windmill. "Don't be absurd, shem."

She didn't hear Morrigan's soft chuckle or Alistair's equally quiet sigh, though. Her thoughts were once again ruled by cold green eyes and a cruel smile. Her hands wrapped around her arms tightly, unaware of the blood that started to trickle down her arm as her desperate grip wrenched the bandage free.

.~^~.

Making their way around Lothering undetected proved to be both more and less difficult than Kalindra had anticipated. The added difficulty came from Morrigan, as there was no way to disguise her striking beauty and the staff which never left her side. It was offset by Alistair's sudden normalcy: with his armor gone and gambeson tucked under his arm, he appeared to be just another refugee. She'd sent Alistair ahead to diminish the chance of the Wardens being seen together, and had cautiously moved with Morrigan through the outer edges of the town, helping the mage over a low fence here and there. Fen'len joined in eagerly, even going so far as to distract the attention of a couple of curious children, leading them away with barks and a wagging tail.

Eventually they reached the windmill - or at least the bottom of the hill upon which it stood. When she looked around for Alistair, she found him standing on a low rise, looking into the distance with a frown on his face. She went to his side and followed his gaze. And blinked. "Is that… someone in a cage?"

"It appears to be," Alistair said with a shrug. "I've never seen a cage like that ever actually in use. It's generally only used for the worst kind of criminals."

"Like murderers?" The comment slipped out before she could stop it.

"Yes, of course. What could be worse than that?"

Kalindra's hands balled into fists before she could stop them, and her jaw tightened so quickly it brought on a mild headache. She could still feel the blood of the bandits on her hands, despite the multiple scrubbings she'd given them after Morrigan had patched her up: warm and thick and mixed in with all the other blood she'd spilled. Her dreams had made it impossible to forget that blood, reminding her of her victims night after night in a parade of bloody, dead faces. As much as Vaughan figured into every nightmare that drove her from sleep, she had also begun to dream of the others, of the guards who were just doing their duty to a bad master, and of the one whose blood had never touched her blade but whose death still fell the most heavily on her shoulders.  _Nelaros..._

She started forward, ignoring Alistair's protest, and approached the cage. As she got closer, words came to her ears, words of a language she'd never heard - not even in Denerim's market, which had its fair share of travelers from far and distant lands.

 _Like Mother_ _…_

Shoving the thought aside firmly, she came to a halt in front the cage and looked up at the… well, giant of a man. He didn't appear to be just a tall man, however: no shem she had ever met had grey skin, topped her by over two heads, and had subtle but visible points at the end of his ears. She shook her head, waiting for a break in his words before asking, "Why are you in this cage?"

His eyes opened, revealing a startling lavender surrounded by a ring of red. "You are not one of my captors. I will not amuse you any more than I have them. Leave me in peace."

"What are the shems doing to you?" She saw the circles under his eyes and the sagging skin that spoke of dehydration and hardship, but his clothes were unmarked and she saw no signs of torture.

"Does it matter? I'm a prisoner, in a cage. I've been placed here by the Chantry." His tone was odd, almost as if she were imposing on him by taking an interest in his condition.

"Even prisoners have names and stories." Still, to be placed here by the Chantry… "I would like to know yours."

The eyes narrowed slightly, though she couldn't read any other expression on his impassive face. After a lingering silence, he straightened and nodded his head. "I am Sten of the Beresaad—the vanguard—of the qunari peoples."

"I am Kalindra Tabris. I… don't really have a people." Two Grey Wardens against Thedas… it seemed hardly worth a mention, really. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

He shifted on his feet, head tilting slightly. "You mock me. Or you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands." A slight shrug was his only acknowledgment otherwise. "It matters not. I suggest you depart and leave me to my fate."

 _Not the words of an innocent man._  Of course, she herself would hardly be innocent, no matter what court decided her fate. The Wardens were her protection, and had not cleansed her of her guilt. "What fate? Why do you deserve to be left to it?"

"I have been convicted of murder." The statement was matter-of-fact, emotionless. "Have the villagers not spoken of this?"

A wry grin came to her face. "I… have not spoken to them. I preferred to avoid them, in fact."

"Then you show surprising intelligence."

"Thank you."

"It was not a compliment."

She tilted her head, considering him again, and the grin faded. "Who did you murder?"

"The people of a farmhold. Eight humans, in addition to the children." Again, that matter-of-fact delivery, though the words this time chilled Kalindra to the bone.

"Children?" She wrapped her arms around herself and took an instinctive step backwards, only peripherally aware that Alistair had approached the cage as well. "That's… that's horrible!"

"I agree."

"Are you all right, Kalindra?" Alistair asked. "He didn't threaten you or anything?"

"How could I pose a threat? I am a prisoner, as I should be." Now the tone held a tinge of exasperation. "Leave me to my fate. It has nearly claimed me. Soon I will expiate my sins and my struggle will cease."

"That—that doesn't even make sense," Alistair protested, but Kalindra had already turned back to the qunari, absently rubbing at the distant pain in her arm.

 _Expiate his sins_ _… through his death._  Yes, that sentiment she understood all too well. "I think we share something in common," she said quietly.

His eyes, which had sagged shut, opened and looked at her, their gaze locking. "I find that difficult to believe. I am qunari, and you are basra, and the two can never be the same." Still, he did not look away.

"You seek atonement, do you not?" She moved to the door of the cage, reaching into her pouch for her lockpicks as she began to examine the lock. "What would be a more fitting atonement: to give up your life for those already dead, or to fight for a better world for those left behind?"

"My death here would accomplish both, would it not?"

 _So very much in common._  "I seek to stop the Blight, Sten of the Beresaad. I offer you a chance to do more than perish in a lonely cage, a death as useless as it is certain. I offer you a chance to ensure that no child need die at the hand of monsters."  _I give you the same choice I was given - too late to avoid guilt, but soon enough to hope for a better path._

"I encountered elements of the Blight before I committed my crimes. Are you saying it is your duty to fight it?" His eyes narrowed as he looked at Kalindra and Alistair, neither wearing armor or weapons, and snorted softly. "Are you a Grey Warden, then?"

"I am a Grey Warden, as is Alistair," Kalindra stated.

A true expression now claimed his face: incredulity. "Surprising. My people have heard legends of the Grey Wardens' strength and skill…" He again scrutinized the two in front of him. "…though I suppose not every legend is true."

"Hey!" Alistair protested. "I'm much more impressive when I've got all my Grey Warden equipment, I'll have you know."

"A true warrior does not need steel to make an impression, human," Sten retorted.

Ignoring the exchange, Kalindra turned her attention to the lock, feeling it out carefully. It was more complicated than the ones she'd encountered in the Arl's estate, but not the worst she'd come across. When the sought-after click vibrated in the steel, she grasped the door and swung it open. "I offer you a place to fight at our side. What could be a better atonement than to fight against such darkness?"

The question hung between them for a moment, and finally Sten nodded. "So it is done. I will follow you into battle. In doing so I shall find my atonement." He looked her up and down one more time, then left the cage. "I hope."

She swung the door closed behind him before turning to head back to Morrigan. As she moved, Alistair caught up to her and muttered, "I can see why you'd want another fighter - and he certainly seems to be one - but are you sure about this? I mean, he  _is_  a murderer."

Her halt was so sudden he almost tripped trying to stay at her side. She glared at him for a moment, knowing he was completely  _right_  and her angry reaction was born entirely from her own sense of guilt, but feeling the irrational sting of betrayal nonetheless. "Aren't we all?" she grated, then turned and went back to Sten, who was walking a bit slower than she'd anticipated.

A small smile came to her face when she saw that Fen'len had managed to evade the children he'd diverted and was now introducing himself to Sten with some firm barks and a wagging tail. The qunari would need some time to recuperate - no matter how stoic he was, his physical condition had deteriorated in his captivity.  _Yet another person to worry about._

"Hallo!" a voice called out, and she glanced, startled, to where Leliana was waving at her, one hand still on a small cart that seemed to hold much more now than it had when she had gone back to Lothering. As the woman came closer, she pointed into the cart. "I bought us more supplies, too! Sleeping in the wilderness without tents is just so barbaric, no?"

 _Leliana._ Kalindra smiled and waved back, a bit surprised at how happy she felt to see that shock of red hair and smile. She'd half expected never to see their belongings again, and certainly hadn't expected Leliana to  _know_  what they would need beyond the basics of food and water. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad…

Two more companions she knew practically nothing about, and they hadn't even left Lothering yet.  _Wonderful. Hopefully we won_ _'t pick up any more strays._


	12. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Kalindra seeks the best path to pursue, the odd little group begin to acclimate to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta reader, Mille Libri!

 

 

* * *

Why do they hate us? _I whisper._

 _Mother looks at the fence that separates the Alienage from the rest of Denerim, and at the crowd of angry people on the other side, prevented from entering only because of the solid wall of gleaming steel in the form of guards standing in front of them._ I do not know, little fox. Sometimes, I suspect even they do not know.

But why do they blame us? _I demand._ Don't they realize we have even less than they do?

 _She sighs and kneels next to me, turning me away from where the shems angrily accuse us of taking what is rightfully theirs._ When you are suffering, little fox, it is easy to forget the suffering of others. Ferelden has a King of its own again, but he  _is_  a human King. And the people of Denerim remain the same, no matter who is in the Palace.  _Her face is sad._ And they, sadly, are still the ones who hate us.

 _Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she sticks_ _her chin out stubbornly._  He's not much of a King, then!

 _Her face softens into sadness._  No single man can solve all problems, little fox—no matter who he may be—but he  _can_  help. All we can do is pray he is wiser than those who came before him.

 _I look at the large fence, thankful it keeps them out and resentful it keeps me in._ And what if the new King doesn't care about us?

He  _did_  send the guards to protect us. So there is hope for progress. _She smiles and kisses my forehead._ Every little step forward helps, after all. _Standing, she holds out a hand to me._ Come. Let's go see Shianni and Soris.

_Excitedly, I take her hand, all thoughts of Kings and progress driven from my mind._

   

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

   

"I'm fine."

Kalindra sighed and only barely refrained from rolling her eyes, but her arm did not waver from in front of his face, nor did she rescind her offering. "Take it."

Sten glared at the waterskin as if it were a personal affront to him. "I do not need such coddling. A true warrior does not—"

"A true warrior knows better than to weaken his forces by ignoring his commander," she interrupted. "You just told me you were in that cage for twenty days, Sten. Your will may be strong, but that won't do me any good if you collapse just as the darkspawn appear." His lavender eyes narrowed as he snorted, and Kalindra had to bite the inside of her lip to hold back a giggle.  _Stubborn as an ox, indeed._ "Drink. You've been walking for hours, but I see no sign of a sweat. That doesn't tell me you have remarkable stamina, that tells me your body is starving for water."

"The weather is cool." The qunari glanced up at the grey sky. Its dull grey color had remained unchanged since leaving Lothering earlier that day, darkening now only due to the approaching night. "And I am not wearing armor, though that in itself is a problem of far greater—"

Holding up her hand to forestall the rising argument, Kalindra said calmly, "You will get armor as soon as we have the money and a merchant nearby, or come across a very large hurlock. I didn't know you would be joining us, and we can only carry so many supplies. However, even if we had that armor, I wouldn't let you wear it because I'd be afraid you'd collapse because you're too stubborn to admit that perhaps twenty days without food and water might possibly affect you." She shifted her stance, planting her feet in front of the boulder he'd chosen to rest upon when they'd made camp - or, as Kalindra would deem it, had chosen to  _just barely avoid collapsing upon._  "Drink."

" _Parshaara._ " His hand finally rose and took the waterskin. "You are most stubborn. Very well, I will do this. Not because it is necessary, but because you are—" his lip twitched, ever so slightly, "—even more stubborn than I."

"Glad to hear it." She folded her arms and watched him. "Well?"

Removing the stopper from the waterskin, he brought it to his mouth and tipped it back. She watched as he drained it in a couple of long swallows and accepted the empty skin from him. "There. Satisfied?"

"When your skin isn't sagging like someone who's spent eighty years in the sun, maybe."

"I have done as you have requested. That is enough." She didn't move until he sighed and added, "And I wish to rest now."

She nodded. "Rest well. We'll be moving faster tomorrow."

He merely grunted in reply.

Leaving him to arrange himself as he wished, she headed back to the bonfire, absently scratching Fen'len's head when he ran up and whined for some attention. "Yes, I know," she said, distracted by her thoughts. "I haven't been paying nearly enough attention to you."

Still, it was their first night out of Lothering, and she had to talk to Alistair about where they were going from here. They'd gotten far enough from Lothering that they hadn't seen anyone on the West Road for at least an hour before heading a ways back from it and setting up camp. Leliana had managed to find an almost idyllic location, complete with a stream for drinking and cleaning up in addition to a lovely little copse of trees. Morrigan had retreated a fair distance from the rest of the companions immediately, setting up her regular minimal protection against the elements. When Kalindra had offered to help her, the mage had declined - politely, at least - and held up the bundle of elfroot Leliana had 'acquired' from the Chantry garden as the reason why she needed some time to herself.

Kalindra glanced at the red-haired woman, currently leaning over the pot of stew she'd been working on since they'd set up camp. For all that Kalindra still didn't quite trust or even understand Leliana's motivations, when she had offered to cook the evening meal, the chorus of affirmation had been universal. Morrigan viewed cooking as an imposition, Kalindra tended to wander off and let it burn, and Alistair… well, his cooking left something to be desired. Leliana's red hair glimmered in the firelight, her face set in a frown of concentration as she moved the pot here and there amidst the fire to ensure the contents wouldn't burn. After a moment's further hesitation, Kalindra shook her head and moved on to where Alistair stood looking out into the darkness with a frown on his face.

"I don't feel any stouties or uglies nearby," he said as she moved closer to him. It was a bit unnerving how he knew she was close - even Daveth hadn't been able to detect her so easily - but she assumed it had something to do with the taint.  _I wonder if I_ _'ll ever need it to figure out his location._  She rather thought not, but then, perhaps one day it would be a useful awareness. "Although I wouldn't mind a single tall ugly. He might have something we could grab for Sten, at least."

"Somehow I think it unlikely," she murmured as she looked out with him. Her awareness of the darkspawn was sketchy at best thus far, but he'd assured her it would take a few days, weeks at the most, for her to  _feel_  them. With a shake of her head, she looked at Alistair. "So we made it past Lothering - with a few more people than we thought to have."

"Hmmm, yes. Though I'm not sure what's more surprising, Sister Crazy or Mountain Man."

She choked back a laugh, then hit him on the arm. "Honestly! It's because of Leliana we don't have holes in our armor anymore, and I'm sure Sten will be useful. You know, once he has equipment of his own."

"All right, all right, no need to hit me," he said with a grin, then rubbed his arm. "Ouch. You should be careful, you know. I bruise quite easily."

"Oh, is that right?" She pretended to look him up and down, or rather up and up, considering how tall he was compared to her. "Yes, you do seem to be rather a delicate flower. However did I miss that fact before?"

He shrugged, an aggrieved expression on his face. "Well, now you know. I shall need to sleep in until at least noon every day, and require at least five pillows when I sleep. Or, you know, bruises. Big nasty purple ones, in fact."

"Riiight." She hit him again, though lightly. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Hey!" He tried to send a pout her way, but it was ruined by the twinkle in his eyes. "Delicate flower, remember?"

She giggled, a hand rising to cover her mouth. It was moments like this that she almost felt  _normal_  again, joking with Alistair as if he were just another member of Slim's crew, or Soris, or even Daveth. Someone she was comfortable around, someone she didn't fear.

It was a wonderful feeling.

A grin still on her face, she said, " _Anyway,_  I came to talk to you about where we should head next. Morrigan got us out of the Wilds as promised—"

"Thankfully," Alistair muttered.

Kalindra frowned, uncomfortable again at this sign of discord between companions, but continued. "—and I wanted to consult with you about our next destination."

"Did you have something in mind?" he asked casually—a bit  _too_  casually, but she wasn't exactly skilled at reading him, and she didn't want to misstep by assuming too much.

She nodded. "The Dalish."

Alistair's startled silence told her more clearly than words that he hadn't been expecting that particular response. The creak of his armor when he shifted seemed to be his only response—that is, unless she looked to see his furrowed brow and thinned lips. "I see," he said finally.

Confused, she turned to face him. "You asked where I thought we should go first. I answered," she explained patiently. "Did you have another place in mind?"

"Not really, it's just—" He sighed. "Nothing, never mind."

Barely managing to suppress a sound of frustration, she asked pointedly, "If you have an idea, I'd like to hear it." She hated having to pull it out of him like this, but she'd noticed that he seldom would tell her what he thought of a situation once she'd espoused an opinion. Whether it was natural modesty, a personal difficulty, or a result of her unfortunate tendency to snap at him, she didn't know, but she knew he would have to break the habit or she would strangle him one day. "Just because you've decided I'm some kind of leader doesn't mean I want you to sit back and shut up. You're the only other Grey Warden in Ferelden, as far as we know, and that means your opinion has weight, no matter what you think."

It was a lesson she'd learned in Slim's crew, and one that had he'd emphasized over and over again:  _A group of thieves is a team, not a squad. All have an equal voice, and all have an equal say._  She smiled slightly as she remembered his earnest face, slapping his rotund belly at key words to emphasize them. Hopefully she could do him proud…

"It's just…" She quickly turned her thoughts from the past, concentrating on Alistair's words. "It's just that Leliana told me there was a rumor going around in Lothering that Arl Eamon had fallen ill."

Her brow furrowed. "That's odd. He seemed perfectly fine when I saw him."

"You've met him?" At her nod, he suddenly frowned. "It's… it's true he had an estate in Denerim. I suppose you must have seen him there."

"Actually, no, though I did the odd job at that estate now and again." Deliberately neglecting to detail what  _kind_  of job she'd done, she continued, "No, Duncan and I went to Redcliffe Castle on our way from Denerim to Ostagar. Duncan wanted an update on the status of the Arl's troops."

"Of course!" Alistair shook his head. "I knew he'd been to Redcliffe Castle shortly before that last battle, I simply didn't put it all together until now." Again, he fell silent, shooting her little glances that puzzled her to no end. "So Arl Eamon was fine?"

"He seemed to be." A genuine smile came to her face as she recalled the earnest, polite boy she'd met while there. "His son Connor was an absolute gentleman, even at so young an age. A son any father could be proud of, if a trifle over-eager to impress guests. When I was there, he—"

"So the Brecilian Forest, then?" Alistair abruptly interrupted, voice overly bright and cheerful. "Sounds good. Looking forward to it. Now, if you'll excuse me." Without another word, he turned and stalked to the central fire, movements stiff. Picking up the long stick they were using as the poker, he stabbed the fire until sparks rose up, then sat down, clearly intent on the fire and  _only_  the fire.

Kalindra stared after him, shocked at his reaction. It seemed so completely unlike him. It was almost like… Her cheeks abruptly burned as she snapped her eyes forward.  _It was almost like how she_ _'d been treating him._

Guilt weighed her shoulders down. Every time they took one step forward, it seemed they fell back three. Though this time… Her shoulders rose slightly. Wait, what  _had_  she done wrong this time? Talking about the Arl and his family - when Alistair had been the one to mention them in the first place - hardly seemed to warrant a temper tantrum.

Then again, he'd rarely deserved her ill-temper himself…

In the end, she left him alone. She owed him that much, after all she'd done to him. Silently, ignoring the twisting of her stomach that had by now erased all hunger, she sighed and faded from view. Embracing the chill as she moved away from her erstwhile companions, she automatically searched for a tree to hide in. Though they were small in this area, she finally found one close enough to still see the bonfire, but far enough that when she left the Shadow her mother had taught her, she felt as if they couldn't see her.

Tucking her knees against her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs, leaned her head back, and pondered the stars silently.

She couldn't handle the dreams tonight. She simply couldn't. Thinking about them made the tears leak from her eyes and roll down the sides of her face.

_Better to look at the stars._

_.~^~._

She finally slipped down from the branches when the first hint of pre-dawn crept over the horizon. She'd watched her companions all night, once the stars had begun to blur too much. Watched Leliana portion out the stew and then look around anxiously for a while before sighing and sitting down to eat next to Alistair. Watched Alistair ignore Leliana when she tried to cajole him into conversation while he ate his own meal silently, then get up and leave her alone as he began his patrol. Watched Morrigan push her concoctions away well after the moon had set and stare up at the stars herself for a long while before shaking her head and lying down on her own bed. Watched Sten shift slightly only once, his need for true rest apparent in how completely still he remained throughout the entire night.

Her only smile came from watching Fen'len as he trotted around the camp, stopping here and there to dig randomly at one spot or another. Once he even pulled something from the ground, running around it in an excited little circle before taking it to Morrigan's little area. He placed it carefully among her belongings before trotting back to camp with perked-forward ears and a wagging stump of a tail. By the time she was on the ground again, he was racing towards her, barking loud enough to pull the dead from the Fade.

"Hush, Fen'len," she shushed, kneeling so that she could scratch him vigorously behind his ears. She frowned as she noticed the scruff fly from his skin. "I haven't brushed you in too long," she muttered. "Come on, boy!"

He followed her eagerly, dancing around her in a circle as she made her way to her abandoned pack lying next to the now almost dead fire. Retrieving his brush and nail file, she began to work on his coat with short, sure strokes. As the dust went flying, she made a  _tsk_ ing noise. "I thought you were supposed to dunk yourself in water at least once a day? What happened to that agreement?"

He whined and looked back at her with soulful eyes.

"Oh, you want  _me_  to wash you, is that it?"

He barked, his tail wagging hopefully.

The sheer amount of dust and dirt flying from his hide made her feel guilty enough that she sighed and said, "All right, you win. I'll bathe you if there's an opportunity to do so. You're on your own after battles, though."

He barked agreement, leaning into her brush. Had he been a cat, she was sure he would have been purring as loudly as he normally barked. As it was, when she put the brush away and grabbed one of his feet, he heaved a great sigh of disappointment and again directed his huge, plaintive gaze at her.

"Oh, stop being such a baby," she told him as she examined his nails. Bringing the file up to one that had broken jaggedly, she added, "It's for your own good."

He whuffed disbelievingly, looking away from her as if he had been betrayed and laying his ears back dramatically.

"Is he always like that?"

Kalindra looked up as the light voice intruded on the scene, a smile still on her face from the good mood Fen'len had induced. "Most of the time, yes. Did you sleep well?" She looked over to where Leliana's tent had been. "How are the tents?"

"Quite comfortable. I bought designs that were ample for one, cozy for two." Leliana chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "Or at least, that's how the merchant described him. I assume during our trip, we'll just have to take his word for it."

Kalindra paused mid-motion, then covered her hesitation by focusing her attention on Fen'len's paw and switching to a different nail. "Yes, of course."

"I noticed you didn't even set yours up. Do you need some help with it?"

Kalindra looked up, meeting the bright blue eyes directly. It seemed an… odd offer. "Ah, no. I just… didn't want to use it last night." Searching for some sort of response beyond,  _"I wanted to be in a tree all night,"_  she finally said, "I had to think. Our party has almost doubled in size, and we don't have a lot of money."

"I can help hunt," Leliana offered immediately, patting the unstrung bow at her side. "And I'm sure Morrigan knows how to find edibles as well as herbs. She certainly seemed to know what to do with the elfroot I bought."

Kalindra looked towards Morrigan's little shelter, suddenly thoughtful. "I'll ask her, but I'd be surprised if she didn't. She was raised in the Wilds."

"Oh, is she Chasind?" She followed Kalindra's gaze. "She certainly has such… striking garments."

Kalindra couldn't help it as a giggle burst from her lips. Morrigan was beautiful, a fact which would readily garner her attention, but her dress was also…  _unusual,_  and definitely fell outside what was considered acceptable in Ferelden. Kalindra didn't mind, of course -  _never that_ \- but it did make for a future conversation she was reluctant to have with the mage. Avoiding notice in Lothering was one thing, but trying to pull off the same trick in Denerim would require skills she simply didn't possess.  _And a change of dress would be simpler, anyway._

Gaining control of herself, she exchanged an amused glance with Leliana. "Yes, she does, though she isn't Chasind." Putting the first paw down, she reached for the second one, but Fen'len whined and moved back a bit, eyes pleading. "Oh, very well. I get to work on it tonight, though."

Fen'len barked in agreement, then turned and loped off, wandering over to Sten, apparently determined to investigate the qunari's status after a full night apart.

She stood and stretched, flexing her hands to free them up before putting the brush and file back in her pouch. She took out her gloves, then wrinkled her nose. "I think I need to wash my hands."

"Come with me, then. I was just about to clean up a bit myself, in fact." Leliana smiled. "Then we can have breakfast together. That stew should be edible, at least, if not as good as it was last night."

Kalindra returned the smile hesitantly. Leliana certainly  _seemed_  normal enough… except for the whole  _hearing the Maker_ _'s voice_  thing. Anyway, she had only been with the party for less than a day… "I think I'll check in with the others first."

Leliana nodded. "Perfectly understandable. Perhaps we can talk this evening." She looked to the horizon, which was much brighter than when Kalindra had first left the tree, close to true dawn. "I'm sure you need to get everyone else ready. Until later, then?" With a little wave, she moved past Kalindra to where the stream moved through a stand of birch trees on the west side of the camp.

Uncertain, Kalindra watched her go. She couldn't help but feel Leliana was trying to put her at ease deliberately; she'd used that trick on hapless marks back in Denerim often enough to recognize the signs. Yet, the woman was from the Chantry - a lay sister, true, but dedicated to the Maker - and the Chantry was hardly a likely place to be trained in something as subtle as quickly gaining another's trust.

But Leliana had proven remarkably skilled at it.  _And claims to hear the voice of the Maker,_  Kalindra reminded herself. As much as she had mentally dedicated herself to Dirthamen, as much as her mother had explained the Creators and all the rituals of her Clan to Kalindra in detail, she never would think she heard His voice in every bear's growl or raven's caw.

Shaking her head, she sighed and looked around for the others. It would be the group's first full day on the road together, and she was both eager and reluctant to continue the journey. Each step taken left her past further and further behind, but she found it more and more difficult to avoid the growing pulse of pain within.

Driven by the impulse to move and stop thinking, she let her feet set into motion once more, trying desperately to leave her very  _thoughts_  behind as well.

.~^~.

She checked with Sten first, where Fen'len had succeeded in rousing him. The Mabari was sitting in an attentive position, head slightly tilted, when Kalindra approached Sten with another full waterskin. This time, Sten accepted the waterskin with only a resigned sigh. She scrutinized him carefully, though, and nodded as she took the empty skin back from him. "I know you will insist it was not necessary, but you look like almost a different ma— _qunari_  than yesterday." His skin was still grey, but it no longer sagged, and the circles under his eyes were greatly reduced. Apparently the grey skin was normal. "You have remarkable powers of recuperation."

"I am Sten of the Beresaad. It is my duty to hold myself ready for battle." The corner of his mouth moved upwards by the tiniest of amounts. "Lest I prove to be a weakness." He stood. "Now if you will excuse me, I have some needs to attend to." He stood and walked away, followed closely by Fen'len.

Kalindra's jaw snapped closed.  _Did he just make a_ joke  _about drinking too much water_? Shaking her head, she turned and headed back to the cold fire.

Her steps faltered when she saw the large frame of the figure hunched over the pot of stew, back to her. Her still-empty stomach churned at the sight, reminding her . A night's worth of thinking hadn't really resolved anything about Alistair in her mind, other than making her aware that she really didn't know anything about him, and that she'd given him no reason to want to know more about her. Steeling herself, she moved closer, resigned to the fact that he would know she was there.

He stood and turned to face her, eyes intent. He hadn't actually filled his bowl yet, clutching it in one hand as he stared at her.

The silence quickly grew uncomfortable, but she wouldn't leave unless he requested it. She'd left him hanging far too many times. He was her fellow Warden, even if she really didn't know what that meant yet. Lifting her chin, she asked, "Is there enough left over for you?"

He chuckled, though it seemed a trifle forced. "Well, I'm a growing Warden. I could eat an entire yoke of oxen and still be hungry."

"You'd better be ready to help Leliana hunt, then, since you're going to be eating most of the food." She tried a smile, but it felt as forced as his attempt at mirth had been. Finally she sighed. "Look, I—I'm not sure what I did wrong last night, but I'm sorry for it. And it made me realize how unfair I've been to you."

With a heavy sigh, he stepped closer. "No, no, it was entirely my fault. You couldn't know about… well, a lot of things."

She looked at him, startled, as she'd been about to say almost exactly the same thing. Scrambling to hide her surprise, she ventured, "About you and Arl Eamon?"

"Yes." He hesitated, glancing back to the pot of stew. "Can I—?" he started to ask just as his stomach complained loudly.

"Oh! Yes, yes, I'm sorry." Grabbing the bowl from his hand, she quickly moved past him and put the rest of the stew into it, then handed it back to him. "Don't get me wrong, I do want to hear it, I just… you're right, you need to eat." She was babbling, the lack of sleep combining with an odd relief that she wouldn't have to  _tell_  him anything. It mixed with the additional realization that he seemed perfectly willing to do all the talking to form a bubbly outburst. "I need to go make sure Morrigan is ready to leave soon. And I think Sten is fine, he just needed water and sleep and-"

He reached out and took one of her hands, and she stopped talking instantly, startled by the motion. "You're trembling," he said softly. "Did you get any sleep at all?"

"N-no." She bit her lip, since she hadn't wanted to admit it to him. It didn't seem like such a brilliant move the next day, when all was said and done, particularly after her little lecture to Sten and practically forcing him to rest.

His hazel eyes crinkled at the corners as a small smile came to his lips. "We'll talk later. Go do what you need to. I'll sit here and stuff my face." He winked at her as he let go of her hand and pulled a small wooden spoon from his pouch. "It's what I'm second-best at, after all."

"Oh?" She let a grin come to the surface. "What are you best at, then?"

"Bruising. I thought we'd discussed that already." He sighed dramatically. "Delicate little flower that I am."

She rolled her eyes. "Next you're going to tell me you were raised by wolves or something."

"Well, actually—"

An odd cry echoed in the chill morning air. Instantly alert, Kalindra ran towards the direction of the sound.  _Morrigan?_  she wondered even as she skidded to a halt in front of the woman's small fire. The mage held her bag of belongings in her hand, face dark with anger.

Morrigan whirled to face her. "Where is that mongrel? I swear, I shall skin him for this!"

Blinking before her vehemence, Kalindra let her gaze slide down to the bag in Morrigan's hands, suddenly remembering Fen'len's little detour to the mage's camping area during the night. She let her blades slide home as she sighed. "What did he do?"

"He left a half-rotten  _something_ in my… my unmentionables!" she sniffed. She had quickly regained her composure when she realized how much attention she'd attracted, but her face still bespoke her fury. "'Tis not as if those are easy to clean or replace out here!"

Kalindra whistled shrilly, then stepped forward and removed the half-rotten… hare, she guessed, so as to at least spare Morrigan  _that_  unpleasant task. Wrinkling her nose, she took the unfortunate remains and threw them as far into the brush as she could. A faint whine came to her ears, and she turned to find Fen'len trying unsuccessfully to hide behind a nearby tree. "Fen'len, come here."

He whined again, but slowly emerged and shuffled - as much as a Mabari could shuffle, anyway - until he stood next to his mistress.

"Now apologize," Kalindra said, crossing her arms firmly across her chest.

He heaved a sigh, then looked up at the mage, directing the same soulful gaze towards her as he had towards Kalindra. When that failed to have a similar effect, he lowered his head and pitched his ears forward, giving a fairly convincing whine.

Morrigan sniffed. "Oh, for Fade's sake, I accept your apology. I simply do not wish the experience repeated."

Fen'len barked and wagged his tail, before turning to trot away again, apology delivered and accepted.

"Just make sure he doesn't do it again," Morrigan repeated to Kalindra. Without another word, the mage turned and began to strike her campsite, shoulders still stiff.

Shaking her head, Kalindra went to the stream to clean her hands, hoping to wash the last remnants of Fen'len's 'gift' away as quickly as possible. She ran into Leliana on the way, her red hair still wet and with a damp cloth around her shoulders.

"I thought I heard a scream. Are we under attack?" She had a dagger in her hand as she looked towards the camp, eyes wide.

Kalindra laughed, shaking her head in negation. "It's nothing. Fen'len left a rather unpleasant present for Morrigan. I'll need to talk to him again later, to make sure he doesn't take leeway with his promise to her and dump a dead bird in there next time."

"A  _what?_ _"_  Leliana giggled. "Oh, dear, I don't think I want to know the details." Her brow furrowed. "You don't think he would—"

"Just make sure your tent is firmly closed." She looked past Leliana. "I'm going to finally wash my hands, and then we'll be on our way. I can't think of anything  _else_  that can go wrong before we head out."

"Maker, I hope not." Leliana's eyes danced with amusement. "I'll let the others know you'll be out shortly."

Kalindra watched her go, then went to the stream and knelt down, using the nearby sedge to scrub at them for a while. She didn't stand up immediately, however, when she was done. Instead, she raised her hands and stared at them for a while, the water slowly falling away in a rivulet of droplets. Everything seemed  _distant_ , for the moment: her weariness, the ache of hunger in her stomach, the unspoken yet constant demands of those with whom she now traveled… All so very real, but for the moment, held at a distance so that she could close her eyes and take a deep breath.

It was a technique she had learned in her youth, an essential component of surviving the close confines of the desperately overcrowded Alienage. Reserved for when the press of people grew to be too much, when the pain of losing yet another loved one to the greed of the shems spiked into sorrow, or when the need to be  _alone_  became overwhelming, the simple act of focusing  _inward_  behind the darkness of one's own eyelids was quietly respected by all as a silent signal to leave that person alone.

Unfortunately, the shadows in her mind had invaded even that dubious privacy. A welter of emotions swept over her as the memories and nightmares rose to the surface, and her chest heaved with the effort as she tried to suppress them and failed.

 _She stood beneath the Tree, meeting the gaze of her new husband as Valendrien introduced them as Kalindra and Nelaros Tabris_ _…_

 _Her dagger arced through the air, tearing through Vaughan_ _'s throat and sending the shem to the Fade for all time…_

 _Tears burned in her eyes as Daveth collapsed to the ground, never to move again_ _…_

 _A scream tore from her throat as she jerked awake high above the ground, her arms empty of the little life that had filled them in the far reaches of her dream_ _…_

Slowly she got her breathing under control, forcing each memory back into the black pit where she'd originally shoved them. Quickly she leaned over the water and splashed water on her face, eyes squeezed shut so she could ignore the reflection which spoke all too keenly of her grief. Wiping the excess water away with a final sigh, she opened her eyes and stood. It was time to return to her companions.

_Dirthamen, give me wisdom. I fear mine will not be enough._


	13. Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past has a way of looming largest when it is least wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta reader, Mille Libri!

__

_([The Impossible Dream](http://agregor.deviantart.com/art/The-impossible-dream-361278107), a commission from ~[Agregor)](http://agregor.deviantart.com/)_

* * *

" _M-mamae?" I whisper. The large single room of our house is dark, and for a second it doesn't feel like home at all, but just more of the bad dream that had driven me from my bed. "Mamae!" I try again, a tiny bit of despair bleeding into my voice._

 _There is movement from the bed Mamae and Papae share, and Mamae turns to me with a smile that I can just barely make out in the dim light of the fire that has almost died. Though she doesn_ _'t speak, she holds out her arm, inviting me to the bed so they can help chase the bad dreams away. I run to them gladly, clambering over Mamae without fear, spurred by the terror of what had been before my eyes when I had awoken._

" _Hush, little one," Papae soothes as his hand rubs over my hair. "It was just the Fade - the shadows can't follow you back here."_

 _I bury my face into the crook of Mamae_ _'s neck. "Promise, Papae?" I say in a small voice. "The shadows were really, really awful, and they said they could find me anywhere. They said I could never escape them."_

" _We'll protect you," Mamae says softly. "We'll protect you until you're big enough to protect us, and then we'll protect each other."_

" _There, you see?" Papae chuckled softly and tucked my hair behind my ear. "The bad dreams can sneak up on you, but they can't really hurt you."_

 _I shudder and curl up against Mamae, and I feel both of them wrap their arms around me, protecting me from the darkness. I don_ _'t tell them about what I saw, since I don't want to talk about it anyway. The horror of the sights slowly began to dwindle as I convince myself that no blood ran down Mamae's body, and that there were no shems in the room laughing at us with bloody knives in their hands, and that Papae didn't hang limply from the Vhenadahl with a rope around his neck._

 _Those were just dreams_ _…_

" _I love you," I whisper as I drift to rest, safe in their embrace._

   

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

   

The ambush came mid-morning their third day out of Lothering. Kalindra's hand flew to her dagger hilt in response to the itch at the nape of her neck. Though the sensation was unfamiliar, the accompanying sour tang in her mouth made her immediately suspect darkspawn. Her suspicion proved correct mere moments later when growling, hideous beasts were vomited up by the ground itself, engaging them in combat with mindless malice.

Her world quickly narrowed as she entered into the odd dance of combat. Her blades and armor gradually darkened with her enemies' blood as she cut through them, flanking different foes as Alistair set his shield and let them assail him. At one point she became aware of Sten joining the battle, using a blade likely picked up from one of the dead enemies, and adjusted her tactics to accommodate his large sweeps of the long blade. Out of the corner of her eye she saw one enemy turn a frost white, only to be shattered a moment later when the tall qunari swung his blade heavily through the iced form. Turning, she blocked the attack of the stouty next to her, and started in surprise when an arrow passed over her shoulder and into its eye. Taking advantage of its stagger, she probed the weakness of the creature's armor at the shoulder, then slit its throat and danced back, glancing up at where Leliana had set herself on a nearby low hill, bow drawn and expression a mask of concentration.

Fen'len's growl warned her, and she snapped her attention back to the combat, this time facing an ugly whose breath made her want to gag. She and Fen'len kept drawing its attention away from the others, picking at it with light blows until it fell. After a quick look at Alistair, she moved up behind the ugly about to bring its blade down on him from the side, kicking its knee from behind to make it stagger before stabbing its back through a rent in its armor.

It wasn't until Sten staggered and faltered that she realized there was an enemy archer. She darted glances around the battlefield until she found it, instantly seeing why it was so difficult for Leliana to target it successfully: the stout figure would stand, shoot, and then hunker down into a small depression it had found. Grimly Kalindra ran towards the danger, banking and changing directions a couple of times as she whistled sharply. Fen'len simply charged ahead and landed on top of the darkspawn from above, making the final cleanup job relatively simple by the time she got to it.

After pulling her dagger from the stouty's throat, she heaved herself up out of the gorge, then let herself fall to her knees for a moment when she saw only her companions still standing. Fen'len licked at the blood on her for a while, and she let him until his tongue ventured near her face. "No, thanks, I've got that." Pulling a cloth from her pouch, she quickly but efficiently cleaned off her blades and slid them home. As she stood and headed towards Alistair, she took out another cloth and fumbled for her waterskin, pouring a spare amount of water on the cloth so she could wipe the stains from her face and gloves.

She grimaced as she examined the bloodstained cloth, coming to a halt next to her fellow Warden. Looking at the muck on his own features, she folded the cloth, put some more water on it, and offered it up. "Need some help?"

"I'd be eternally grateful to you," Alistair admitted. "I swear, I'll figure out a way to have Andraste herself sing your praises." He'd already cleaned his own sword off, but clearly hadn't thought to pack a second cloth for the purposes of cleaning himself. He reached out with a gauntleted hand, then paused - the gauntlet was covered in blood and muck. "Maybe you could, you know, wipe off the worst of it?"

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded and reached up to perform the task, concentrating on getting as much off his face as she could. "Hopefully Leliana or Fen'len can find a stream for the camp tonight. Blood really isn't your color."

"Suits them well enough, thankfully," he said with a gesture to a still body nearby. "Let's make sure all darkspawn wear that look from now on, shall we?"

She laughed as the cloth moved over his eyes. "Deal. That's a gift I'm quite willing to bestow upon them." Subsiding into silence, she concentrated on his face for a bit.

After a few moments, Alistair asked quietly, "Why the Dalish first?"

Kalindra looked up at him, half-expecting disdain or mockery but finding only genuine curiosity. She lowered the cloth and began folding it, trying to contain the bloodied parts within until it could be cleaned. "My mother was Dalish," she said, "though not from Ferelden. Farther north, up the coast of Antiva or Rivain- or so I believe. She just said that the seas were warm and the sun brighter where she was born, but her home was with her fam—"

Her mouth snapped shut. Though the memory no longer held immediate pain, it still wasn't something she wished to share lightly. "At any rate," she continued in a stronger voice, "it's also seems the place we're least likely to meet Loghain or his forces. Even in the Alienage, those of us who believed in the Dalish knew they are not inclined to be friendly towards shems. Armed shems would be even less welcome, I'd imagine."

"Oh." Alistair blinked. "That's… rather clever, actually. Not that I'm surprised, of course."

She smiled up at him, a faint warmth blooming in her cheeks at the compliment. "I-I guess it is. Keep alert for any stragglers while I check on the others, would you?"

"Yes, ser!" he responded, issuing a salute which left a smear of blood across his forehead from the gunk still on his gauntlets. He grimaced. "Um, could you leave—?"

"All right, if you insist," she said, tossing him the cloth. "There  _might_  be a clean spot on that thing."

Leaving him to figure it out for himself, she went to Sten first. The arrows looked to be painful if not lethal, but she wanted to make sure before they decided what to do next. As she walked towards him, she tried to tally the number of uglies and what weapons they'd been using. Maybe they could salvage  _something_  he could use that was better than the clothes he'd been imprisoned in.  _Hmm_ _… Do darkspawn carry money, I wonder? Couldn't hurt to check, I suppose…_

.~^~.

After a targeted ransacking elicited a surprising answer for Kalindra, she engaged in a logic match with Sten concerning his new equipment: a long sleeved tunic made of boiled leather and a steel sleeveless hauberk. After his initial complaint that it stank worse than a  _dathrasi_ _'_ s sty - whatever  _that_  was - he fell into silence, contemplating the steel greatsword they'd also found on the battlefield. His eyes grew distant as he ran a hand along the blade before shaking his head slightly and sliding his new weapon into the sheath on his back. They'd headed out after they'd all recovered their breath and eaten some hard bread and dried meat at Alistair's suggestion. "You can march or you can fight, but doing them one right after the other without some food and drink in between usually means a broken nose for  _someone_." As they headed out, Alistair at the vanguard with the freshly equipped Sten, she regarded him thoughtfully.

"He's the older Warden, isn't he?" a voice asked from next to her.

Startled, Kalindra turned and looked at Leliana. "Older?"

"I mean, he's been a Warden longer," she clarified. "Of course, he  _looks_  older, but I generally don't inquire after a lady's age, so I wouldn't know how to compare."

Kalindra's mouth twisted in a wry grin, admiring Leliana's effortless method of gathering information.  _Status, rank, and age, all in one seemingly innocent exchange. Next, she_ _'ll inquire about my background._ "He's been a Warden longer, yes, though I know not by how long. He was a Warden when I arrived at Ostagar as a recruit."

"Oh, so you weren't a Warden before Ostagar? Curious, but then, I suppose the Wardens would need fresh blood during a Blight more than any other time." Leliana sighed with just the right touch of whimsy as she added, "There must be quite a story about how you came to a Grey Warden. Why, I can't even imagine what it must have been like for you! How on Thedas did you come to be at Ostagar?"

Waving a hand dismissively, Kalindra said, "I was recruited by a Warden and taken to where the need was greatest. Surely that's not too mysterious, is it? Meeting an Orlesian sister in Lothering, now,  _that_  is a tale I am most interested in."

There was a moment of silence, and out of the corner of her eye, Kalindra saw Leliana narrow her blue eyes slightly, not expected to have her probing countered so fluidly. Then her face brightened back into the mask of amiability she'd been wearing since they'd left Lothering. "Oh, well, I'm not Orlesian, you see. I lived there in my younger years, of course, but I was born in Ferelden." She laughed, that clear crystal laugh Kalindra recalled from the clearing near Lothering. "And I'm not a sister, in point of fact, merely a lay sister."

 _Even less willing to talk your past than I am, I see._ Going along with the deflection for now, Kalindra pretended confusion. "Oh? What's the difference?"

As Leliana answered with a tone just this side of prattling, Kalindra considered her carefully. This little talk made four times since joining them in Lothering that Leliana had attempted to glean information about Kalindra's past using techniques that Slim had carefully instilled in her.  _"Never let your guard down,"_  he'd repeated, over and over.  _"An innocent question rarely comes from an innocent person, and is even less likely to have an innocent reason."_  Although she could understand why Leliana would want to know more about her new traveling companions, Kalindra could tell that more than mere curiosity was at play in the woman's demeanor.  _And that story about the Maker talking to her in a dream_ _…_ Kalindra conceded the gambit to be brilliant, if risky _. Make someone scrutinize your sanity, and they_ _'re less likely to scrutinize your motive. Why did you need to journey with us, I wonder?_

The explanation seemed to be winding down, so Kalindra nodded in acknowledgment of the explanation. "So… if you're not a sister and not dedicated to the Maker and the Chantry… why are you receiving special missives from the Maker?"

"I was wondering when you would bring that up," Leliana said, a rueful grin coming to her face. "I know it must sound insane to think that the Maker spoke to me personally. Yet it's true! The Maker told me to help you against the darkness."

"You have to admit it sounds odd at the very least." Kalindra directed a smile of her own towards Leliana, all too conscious of the scars on her face as they stretched. "In my experience, most people seem to ignore the Maker and his directives, not rush to obey them."

Leliana's face grew sad. "Of this I am all too aware. I myself was like that, years ago, until I felt the need to enter a life of quiet contemplation."

 _Felt the need? Interesting choice of words._  "Is that when you entered the Chantry in Lothering?" she said in a deliberately distracted tone, looking to where Fen'len was darting in and out of the trees on the right side of the path. "An unlikely place for a woman like you."

There was a beat of silence, and then Leliana chuckled, a low, throaty sound which seemed more appropriate to a bedroom. "A woman like me? What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you can fight," Kalindra pointed out. "I can't think that archery is a standard pastime for someone living a life of 'religious contemplation.'" A bit daring and looking for a reaction that would confirm or deny the little hints Leliana had been dropping over the past few days, Kalindra reached out and ran her fingers lightly over Leliana's string hand, finding callouses which only years of working with a bow could produce. Leliana's hand tightened around hers as Kalindra stroked the inside of the woman's palm.  _So you_ are  _trying to get my attention._  In a soft voice, she murmured, "What drove you to seek such peace and quiet, I wonder?"

Leliana snatched her hand away. "I wasn't driven, I simply... desired some time of contemplation, to-to learn more of the Maker's will." Kalindra kept her eyes on Leliana as she turned away and cleared her throat, the hand that Kalindra had touched flexing a couple of times. "Surely that's not unusual."

"Perhaps not." Affecting indifference, Kalindra shrugged, then took another shot in the dark. "I've never met a lay sister before. Or is it customary in Orlais for young women to seek sanctuary after difficult times?"

"No more than it is here, no. After all, one does not seek out sanctuary light—" Leliana caught herself only after she'd fallen into Kalindra's trap. "Ah, that is—"

"You don't need to tell me," Kalindra interrupted, though in a gentle tone of voice. "You don't need to tell me about why you sought sanctuary, or where you come from, or even whether or not this vision is real or a ruse. You don't have to tell me anything - just as I don't need to tell you anything. You're a good fighter, which is what we need right now. Who knows? Perhaps you  _are_ following the Maker's directive, at that."  _Even if I personally don_ _'t care for him one way or the other._ "I simply ask that you stop this dance." She turned to look into Leliana's astonished blue gaze. "I don't like being manipulated either."

The woman was silent for a few moments, long enough that Kalindra was about to excuse herself when Leliana abruptly blurted, "Pardon me," and trotted to walk in the back of the party, where she and Morrigan, who appeared to be lost in her own thoughts, ignored each other.

With a sigh, Kalindra glanced up at the sky, wondering if she would find any more wisdom there than she had retained from Slim Couldry's wry yet sensible advice. Just as she did, an errant drop of liquid landed on her eye. Ducking her head, she blinked to clear her vision, then regarded the quickly gathering gloom.  _I_ _'d hoped to push through to the outskirts of the Brecilian tonight._ She frowned, sniffing the wind. Rain seemed to be inevitable, and the thought sent a trickle of foreboding up her spine.

 _If it rains, I_ _'ll have to sleep in my tent._  Oh, she knew that  _eventually_  she would sleep in the tent - it  _was_  Ferelden, after all, where muck and mud was more common than stone and relied on a healthy supply of precipitation to keep it that way - but she had managed to consider it a nebulous  _future_  event, something  _distant_  that she could avoid thinking about. They seemed to be quite nice tents, or at least no one had complained to her about them. Of course, hers had remained neatly folded up each night, left by the fire so that she could seek her normal sleeping niche in a nearby tree and never,  _ever_  have to think about the last time she'd slept in a tent. More importantly, she wouldn't have to ever remember waking up to Duncan's grim visage, or hearing of the death of her… of the…

A pain stabbed through her gut, and she gasped and shook her head, trotting ahead of the others in the hopes that exertion could wipe away what her own mind could not.  _Creators,_ please _, don_ _'t let it rain. Give me at least one more day before I have to remember… that._

An inquisitive  _whuff_  broke through her darkness, and a bump against her leg reminded her that she was moving too far ahead of the others. Forcing herself to slow down, she glanced down at Fen'len and smiled tremulously. "I'm fine."

Another  _whuff_  and whine told her very clearly that she wasn't fooling anyone.

With a sigh, she settled her hand on his head and began to scratch, digging into the thick skin in a manner she'd learned he liked best. "Would you believe that I'll  _be_ fine?"

Fen'len whined softly again, then gave a quick bark and wagged his tail, bouncing away to begin roaming the area ahead of them.

 _I_ _'ll take that as a yes, then._  Pressing her hand against her stomach and the ache that was now subsiding, she sighed.  _At least_ he _believes it_ _…_

.~^~.

It was still a couple of hours before sunset when they reached the outskirts of the Brecilian forest, a line demarcated by excessively tall trees which reached into the sky above and a withering road which petered out as they entered the space beneath the arching branches. Though Kalindra would have preferred to explore the height of those trees immediately, the clouds decided at that moment that they had finished flirting with rain and proceeded to unleash a torrent upon them all. A flurry of activity commenced, wherein the party scrabbled to set up camp for the night - a desperate busyness during which Leliana  _still_  managed to find a beautiful little glen complete with what would have been a babbling brook and pond had not the storm been drowning it - and pitch their tents without letting  _too_  much rain inside. As she hurriedly pounded her stakes firmly into the soil of their campsite, Kalindra resolutely tried to concentrate only on the matter at hand and not dwell upon her weakness from earlier.

Once the tent was up, she ducked inside her temporary domicile and knelt to arrange her bedroll, babbling in her own mind.  _I just_ _… didn't need a tent before._   _I could have slept in it any time I wished. My reluctance has nothing to do with_ _… with Duncan or the Joining or—_ The words rang hollow and false. With a gasp, she pushed the thoughts away, determinedly working at the bindings on her armor. It fell to the ground, the clatter cushioned and softened by the thickness of the bedroll. As she desperately pulled her padded tunic over her head, she noticed that her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. Her eyes squeezed shut, seeking the quiet peace which had served her so well in the Alienage, but that only seemed to make it  _worse_ , awakening fears that she didn't even know she had possessed.

Again her mind babbled at her, this time riding on a tide of terror.  _I can_ _'t get away from him, what if he decides that tonight he can—_  She tried to ignore it, tried to latch onto the absolute surety that Alistair would  _never_  harm her, but felt that strong, irrational fear that  _of course_ the shem  _would_ find a way to do so _._ Her body followed that thought, reaching out to the ties that held the tent flap closed and knotting them thoroughly, a worthless protection against a threat that didn't exist - but it made her feel marginally better _._ Gradually she became aware of her arms clutching her torso, fingers rubbing sporadically but deeply at the marks left there by that  _other_  shem and his cronies.

Leaning forward until her forehead practically touched the cotton shirt she'd intended to use as a pillow, she tried to push the fear down, to push the groundless horror away, yet only dropped deeper and deeper into her own agony. That black pit within had burst open, triggered only by the silly apprehension of sleeping in a tent, and the poisons she had managed to keep hidden leaked out and sought to hurt her once more _._  Before she realized that she couldn't keep the tide held back any longer, the memories she'd fought to keep tamped down burst forth, her mouth open in a silent moan as she fought to  _push it back_.

One by one, she found each and every memory and ruthlessly shoved it back within: the guards taking the women of the Alienage during the celebration of her own wedding, the assault upon her body and soul, the death of the man she hoped she could live with in happiness, the loss of her family and home… And then what had come after, in Ostagar, when the faint light that had begun to shine was also destroyed, dead along with Daveth. And that most pernicious agony of all, when she awoke after drinking the concoction she hoped would kill her, only to hear those words destroy the dream she had held most dear…

 _The child did not survive._ My _child_ _…_

The darkness consumed her after that.

.~^~.

_Why could she not recall how she had come to be here, in this perfect field of flowers, sunlight and fresh air?_

_It had to be a dream._

_She sat beneath a tree, the bark digging into her back, and looked down at the tiny form wrapped within the blanket in her arms._

_She remembered the pain of the Joining, the pain when that black, noxious mixture of blood and death had eradicated the life in her womb. She remembered being told that she could never bear life again. She remembered shutting that pain away, to be dealt with later, after the rest of the agony was confronted and dismissed._

_So how could she be sitting under a tree, gazing at a small sleeping face and holding such a precious bundle in her arms?_

_It had to be a dream._

_The tears came to her eyes as she drew the swaddled infant to her face, letting the wetness soak into the soft blanket in which the infant slept._

_She remembered all the times she had told Mother about the daughter she would one day raise, the son she would teach to climb trees, the children which she would bring to her mother so they could be loved by an entire family. She remembered lying in bed the night after her mother_ _'s murder, refusing to cry because she knew that one day she would have a child to show her mother's love to, that somehow that would make it all right. She remembered the single night she'd shared with Nelaros, warm from both the fertility brew and the clever attention of his tongue and fingers._

_Was it his child? Or was it a child of hate and pain, seeded by one who would have viewed it as worse than a mongrel and certainly no true child of Bann Vaughan?_

_It had to be a dream._

Kalindra jerked out of sleep, sitting up straight as tears streamed down her face. Quickly snatching up the cotton shirt, she pushed it against her mouth and curled into a fetal position, crying in earnest as the dream washed over her.

She remembered the clear green eyes, the same shade as her own, meeting her gaze. She remembered her fingers finding nothing to cling to as the child began to glow white. She remembered as the child and blanket faded from sight, leaving her arms empty - again.

Why did that nightmare always end the same way? So close, yet so very, very far?

It had been a dream.

As her sobs slowly faded and her exhausted body succumbed to the lure of sleep once more, her last thought was a yearning for the Archdemon to invade her mind while she slept.

She could no longer stand any alternative.

.~^~.

Hours later, she started up from her bedroll almost violently, abruptly aware that her hands were rubbing over the scars on her torso over and over again. Judging from the pain that lingered as she pulled her hands away hurriedly, she had been scrubbing at them for some time. Mind in a fog, she wondered when her mind had focused on those scars and begun to scratch at them, and why. Did it hope to rub them and the memory of their creation away? The scar tissue felt hot to the touch, especially the bite mark on her right breast, as if Kalindra had been worrying at them during her sleep. She shuddered and reached over for her padded tunic, desperate just to cover up the sight of her own body.

She finally noticed that the rain had stopped, and the fact that she could  _see_  so clearly indicated to her that the sun must have risen or be preparing to rise. The light within the tent was dim, but definitely brighter than a dark, stormy night. With a huge yawn, she began to work her fingers through her tangled, knotted hair - yet another sign of her restless sleep - when a quiet scratching came from the tent flap.

Her heart immediately began to hammer in her chest, and she forced herself to take several deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself down.  _By Dirthamen, nothing is going to happen! Someone about to attack would never announce their presence with the equivalent of a knock at the door._ Nodding to herself slowly, she summoned enough wherewithal to call out, "Come." Only after she said the word did she realize that the ties of the tent flap were still tied. "Hold on, let me loosen those for you." She leaned forward and untied the knots. "All right, it's open now."

The tent flap parted to let in weak morning sunlight and the smell of freshly cleaned air. Along with the glory of a morning after a good rain came a slim figure already dressed in her light leather armor. Leliana settled onto her knees in front of Kalindra's bedroll, eyes downcast at first as she avoided Kalindra's gaze. After a silent moment, however, she raised her chin, bright blue eyes wide as Leliana regarded Kalindra.

For a moment, their gazes locked. Kalindra didn't speak, unsure what had caused the woman to seek her out – particularly with such a lost expression on her face. The longer she examined Leliana's face, though, the more Kalindra felt as if this were the  _true_  Leliana, and not the woman who had been trying to beguile information out of her since they had met.

Leliana broke the silence first, bringing her hands in front of her to squeeze each other. "I sought sanctuary in the Chantry because I wanted to escape from the pain of my past." A hand hesitantly reached out towards Kalindra's face, causing a tingle to course through her as Leliana's fingers lightly touched one of the deepest scars there. "I… I believe this is a desire we both share."

Pulling back from the uninvited touch, Kalindra turned her face so she wouldn't have to look at Leliana while she regained control. The ticklish sensation when the fingers had grazed her skin surprised her, since it had felt almost…  _pleasant_. She had expected it to feel  _wrong,_  like an invasion… yet it didn't. "I told you," she whispered, "I didn't - don't - need to know."

"But you do," she said softly. "You need to know that you aren't alone."

Kalindra's eyes flew to the woman's face, and this time it was Leliana who looked away first, a definite tinge to her cheeks as she did so.

"I'm sorry, I thought… I just know what it is like to be in pain and feel alone. I thought maybe you would understand, or… or want to know that—." She bit her lip, the motion barely visible in the dim morning light, then hastily backed out of the tent. "Breakfast is ready! We'll see you soon."

And then she was gone.

Astonished, Kalindra stared after Leliana, and for the first time, she truly didn't know  _what_  to think about the woman.

Before she could ponder the matter any further, however, her stomach let her know in no uncertain terms that no matter what the rest of her body was ready or not ready for,  _it_  was very much ready to be filled. Completely. With extra oatmeal, if the scent that floated through the air was any indication.

Quickly she finished getting ready as best as she could and left the tent. Food was simple. And right now, she just really,  _really_ wanted simplicity.


	14. Exploration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kalindra explores her past and her present, her heart and the world around her, in this calm interlude before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my fantastic beta reader, Mille Libri!

 

* * *

_My heart thuds in my chest as I dip and weave between the tall shems crowding the marketplace, ignoring the various curses and oaths thrown my way as I run through them. The bag with its precious contents is clutched tightly to my chest, and I pray I can evade the shem who yelled at me as I placed the last stolen apple into it. My breath comes in short, panicked spurts as I burst from the crowd and duck down an alley. I know how to get to the Alienage from here, but I_ _'m not sure I can run this fast all the way back…_

_A hand lands on my shoulder and grips my shirt, and I gasp as my feet leave the ground. Dangling in the air, I am turned to face a man with a cruel gleam in his eyes, a gleam all elves fear. "Well, well, what have we here? A knife-eared gutter rat, looks like. No one will miss you, will they, little rat?"_

_I struggle, kicking out and punching as best as I can, but the man only laughs. "Oh, you'll be fun to play with. The perfect—" He suddenly stops, an odd look crossing his face, and abruptly the hand releases my shirt as he collapses to the ground, a blade sticking out of his back._

_Again a hand lands on my shoulder, but when I look up, it's to see my mother's face. "Come, little fox. We don't want to be found near the body."_

" _The body?"_

_My mother is already dragging me away from where the man lies motionless on the ground, pulling me towards a door that looks like it hasn't been opened in years. When we reach it, the door opens suddenly, and I follow my mother in shock into the darkness beyond, biting my lip hard when the door slams behind us._

" _You found her?" I hear a man's voice, though I can barely make out more than a shadow._

" _Yes, thank you. One more minute and…" My mother's voice trails off, and_ _her arms wrap around me, gripping me tightly. "Don't run off like that, little fox. There are dangers you are not ready to face in the city."_

_The man chuckles. "Sounds like it's time to start teaching her how to face them, doesn't it?"_

" _M-Mother?" I ask, bewildered._

_A lamp suddenly lights next to me, and I jump, looking over to find a thin shem with orange-red hair smiling warmly at her. "Who's that?" I ask in alarm._

" _The name's Slim, Slim Couldry," the man answers. He holds out his hand. "I have a feeling we're going to get to know each other quite well."_

" _But—" I_ _look to my mother, then whisper loudly, "He's a_ shem _!"_

_My mother laughs. "Not all shems are bad. You can trust Slim with your life, little fox. I promise."_

_I turn this novel concept over in my mind slowly, but in the end, I know that I can trust Mother with more than my life. I turn to the she- Slim Couldry and hold out the hand not still holding the bag. "My name is Kalindra. Pleased to meet you."_

.~^~.

   

The first night after entering the forest, Kalindra, heart still cracked from the dream of the little babe who would never be, had shimmied up a suitable tree as soon as Leliana had found a charming glade for their camp. Thankfully, Kalindra had enjoyed a blissfully peaceful night nestled in the needles high up in the fir, reveling in the sharpness of the chill wind as it washed over her. The stars were much brighter here than in Denerim; and the setting, though foreign to her as a child of the city, made them even more enchanting. Before drifting into sleep, she watched the heavens through the gently moving branches for hours, the little girl inside watching with wide eyes.

The following day, that same little girl kept Kalindra's eyes round and her heart full of misty-eyed wonder as she remembered spending many nights in the arms of her mother under the branches of the  _Vhenadahl_ , rain or clear. Story after story of the Dalish Clan Jalani from which mother had come whispered through her mind as she struggled to find joy in her mother's memory – starting with the first word of their language she'd ever learned, and the most important:  _Mamae_.

The word was both balm and curse. Remembering her mother as she was when Kalindra was yet a child had brought her joy more often than not, even after her death, because she had always harbored the hope deep inside that one day  _she_ would be the mother, bestowing kisses upon a smaller version of herself or her husband. Since the Joining - or more specifically, since her awakening after it – that dream had faded more and more, leaving an empty hollowness behind. In that small space, the memory of her mother had dimmed and cracked, just like her heart, but never completely faded completely.

She fought to push the ache of the eternally empty blanket from her dreams far away, desperate not to feel as if she were a flower withered with sorrow. In the forest, she saw the details of her mother's tales come to life in a way that both excited and saddened her. The losses she had suffered, and the pain which accompanied them, faded away, and she woke the next morning feeling truly refreshed.

She spoke little with her companions that day, despite their increasingly inquisitive glances. Though not precisely  _avoiding_  them, she often wandered around the edges of the group as they moved through the forest, taking in the smells that reminded her more than anything else of home, the  _Vhenadahl_ , and her  _Mamae_. Each hour that passed gave her an ever-increasing sense of peace, the black pit fading into the background of her mind. Her smile began to return and the pain in her stomach faded as her steps became lighter. Fen'len approved of her wandering and frequently trotted at her side, leaving only to return with the occasional odd object. His tiny stump of a tail would beg for the approval of her nod before dashing off to find the next prize.

It was the closest to happiness she'd felt since leaving Ostagar.

That evening, she heard her name called softly as she moved through the trees, trying to find one suitable to spend the night in and still be close to the little idyllic dell Leliana had chosen for their campsite.

Surprised, Kalindra turned to find Leliana approaching her. With a smile which was more a reflection of her own mood than a warm welcome for the human woman, she waved tentatively.

"There you are!" Leliana's smile no longer seemed to be calculated friendship, and the way her face glowed had more to do with the last light of the sun than an attempt to appear engaging. No words had been exchanged since that morning in the tent, but Kalindra knew her own gaze had landed on the woman's form more than once, and she wondered if perhaps Leliana's had done the same in return. "I was hoping I would find you before you disappeared into the canopy."

"Oh?" For some reason, the knowledge that Leliana had sought Kalindra out specifically warmed her, and she fought the urge to duck her chin in shyness. "Did you need something?"

Leliana looked down for a moment, and Kalindra noted that the tips of the tips of the woman's ears had reddened with a blush. "I was wondering if perhaps you would like some... some company, at least for a little while. I mean, I've noticed it's hard to see the stars from the ground, and you seem to know how to bypass that little problem."

Kalindra considered the request for a moment, looking around them. Finding a tree that would support both of them might take a while, but suddenly she wanted to exert the effort to do so. With a shy smile, she nodded. "I think I can locate a tree that can hold us." As she turned, a hand stole out and stroked hers.

Startled, Kalindra turned to look at Leliana, who smiled at her. "Wouldn't want to lose you to the dark, now, would I?"

"N-no." This time she  _did_ duckher chin so that her hair would fall over her face, she hoped her blush wasn't too obvious in the dimming light. "I suppose you wouldn't."

Her hand slowly accepted Leliana's hand into her grasp as she continued about her task. Acutely aware of the intimate contact and the other woman's nearness, Kalindra walked with Leliana through the twilight of the forest. Each time she stole a glance at the woman and found an equally circumspect peek being sent her way, her cheeks warmed a tiny bit more. By the time she'd found a tree which was strong enough to hold both of them, their fingers had become intertwined, and she'd felt Leliana's thumb rub her hand more than once. Reaching up to a low branch with her free hand, she hesitated. "This tree is big enough. Do you still—" She let her voice trail off, the tone reflecting her nervousness.

"Of course!" Leliana squeezed Kalindra's hand tightly before letting go. With surprising agility, she tackled the low branches and began to climb, her laughter dancing down the tree. "Race you to the top!"

Kalindra grinned, feeling  _far_  more certain about winning that particular challenge than fully understanding what, if anything, was happening with Leliana otherwise. As she began to ascend, her hand felt warm, a sensation last felt while exploring the Korcari Wilds with Daveth. She passed Leliana with practiced ease, settling down into a niche where several leafy branches had all grown near each other. Glancing down through the branches, she saw flashes of red hair through the leaves as Leliana made her own way up, and a smile again came to her lips as a memory swept over her.

.~^~.

_"How did you learn to climb so fast?" Shianni grumped, looking at Kalindra where the latter was perched on a large branch in the upper reaches of the Vhenadahl. "It's like you're part squirrel or something."_

_Kalindra giggled as she looked down at her cousin. Shianni had insisted that she didn't need any help, and clung stubbornly to that claim, even though she was clearly stuck at the moment. "I seem to be lacking a large fluffy tail if that's what you think I am," she pointed out airily. Turning on the branch, she set her back flat against the broad trunk, setting one leg to rest on the branch and the other leg to swing lazily. After a few moments of watching Shianni try and fail to find a good handhold, she called down, "Are you suuuure you don't want any help? I'm right here, you know."_

_"I'm fine!" came the curt reply. With some more grumbling - unintelligible, this time - she lowered herself down a few branches and then took her time to look around, finally choosing a path that would eventually bring her up to Kalindra's level. "Even us non-squirrels can figure it out eventually."_

_"At least_ you _have red hair." Kalindra stretched her arms up and arched her back, enjoying the sunlight and breeze._ _"_ _I've yet to see a squirrel in Denerim with anything but bright red fur. And your temper's more like theirs, too."_

 _"It is not!" she protested, then snapped her mouth shut, all too aware how much like a scolding squirrel her exclamation had sounded. After climbing a few more branches with some grunts, she paused to lick the sweat off her lips. "And at least I'm_ trying."

_Kalindra snorted at this reference to Soris, who was currently at the base of the tree and peering up at them. "His loss. Believe me, it's worth it." She patted the branch. "Come ooooon, climb faster."_

_With a sigh, the sixteen-year-old Shianni groaned and did her best. A few minutes later, she finally pulled herself up onto the thick branch next to Kalindra, her face as red as her hair. "Maker, how can you do this every day?"_

_"Well, maybe if_ you _did this every day, it wouldn't be so hard for you."_

_"Oh, don't give me your logic." Shianni sagged, breathing deeply between her words. "I still think you're part squirrel. It's the only explanation." They both giggled at that. "This had better be worth it."_

_"Oh, it is." Reaching out, she turned Shianni so that the girl straddled the branch, then pulled her back to lean against her chest. Glancing at the sky and noting the first signs of the approaching dusk, she said, "We'll need to wait a bit, but it's worth it. I just wanted to make sure you didn't climb up in dim light."_

_Shianni sighed and leaned her head back, relaxing into Kalindra's body. "Well, at least this is comfortable." Reaching out, Shianni grabbed Kalindra's hand, lightly running her fingers up and down the attached arm. "And private."_

_A flush heated Kalindra's cheeks, but she nodded in agreement. Her free hand reached up and tentatively came to rest on Shianni's stomach, her head bending so she could land a kiss on the crown of her cousin's head._

_Wordlessly, Shianni covered Kalindra's hand with her own and nudged it upwards, her breath hitching slightly. They'd started exploring each other only a few weeks ago, beginning with a few hesitant kisses and clumsy but tight hugs, but it had progressed from there by mutual agreement, an extension of the normal wide-eyed giggling exploration from when they were children and still learning about the difference between each others' bodies. Kalindra had noticed that Soris and Taeodor would disappear for hours at a time in the last year or so, and now that she and Shianni had started their own series of clandestine meetings, she was beginning to have serious suspicions about what they did together._

_As Kalindra's hand closed over her breast_ _,_ _Shianni gasped a sound that made Kalindra nervous and excited all at once. Gently Kalindra spread her fingers over the new territory, biting her lip when she felt a bump through the cloth. Shianni's back stiffened slightly as a soft moan escaped her lips, her head digging into Kalindra's breasts. Emboldened by the reaction, she reached up and curled a finger under the rough homespun of Shianni's shirt so she could touch the heated flesh beneath._

_As the light faded around them with the approaching sunset, the world dimmed as well, melting into a small space consisting only of Shianni and Kalindra. They helped ward each other against the ever-increasing chill of autumnal twilight through their kisses and caresses, their confidence in their exploration slowly growing._

_Only when Kalindra dimly heard the Mabaris begin to bark in the city proper did she release Shianni's lips with a gasp and look out. "We almost missed it! Come on, look, look!"_

_Shianni groaned theatrically as she tugged her shirt up over her bare breasts, but did as she was bade. Her eyes widened, though, and she squeezed Kalindra's hand silently as she watched the spectacle that Kalindra had brought her up to view._

_The Alienage, for the most part, was_ low _compared to the rest of Denerim: low in status, low in importance, but also low in a_ literal _sense. In the heaviest rains, the Alienage always got the drain water from the rest of the city that the river couldn't handle, which meant that at least once or twice a year, homes got flooded and streets became small ponds (to the delight of the children and the exasperation of the adults). While walking in the crammed byways and alleys of the slums, all that could be seen was the Alienage. The fence blocked the view of the rest of Denerim when it was closed, and the buildings had been built with windows that only faced inwards. In that world, the light came and went, but sunrise and sunset were a time, not an experience. It was rare that an elf of the Alienage saw them unless their jobs called for them to be outside the Alienage at the time, and Shianni had rarely left the safety of the Alienage in her entire life - and then usually in the company of Kalindra and her mother to go to the fields beyond the walls for a day of fresh air and no shems._

_It had been Kalindra's mother who had encouraged her to climb the Vhenadahl, but it had been Kalindra who had found this magic branch, from which one could see the rooftops of Denerim laid out in a huge sprawl. It wasn't until she was thirteen that she'd also discovered that at certain times of the year one could also watch the sunset over the harbor of Denerim, just barely visible in the distance._

_Kalindra held her breath as the sun touched the surface of the water, slowly disappearing over the horizon._

_Shianni's eyes remained wide as she watched the sun shrink. Just before it vanished entirely, there was a bright burst of light that flashed over the entire horizon, so quick that a blink would have missed it._

_"What was that?" Shianni asked. "I never knew the sun did that!"_

_"I don't know, but it's beautiful."_

_Shianni twisted a bit so she could face Kalindra, eyes shining with wonder. "That_ was _worth it. Thank you."_

 _They shared one more kiss there in the branches of the tree, but now that sunset had come and gone, Soris would be expecting them on the ground again. No more words were exchanged on the way down, save for the eternal promise of_ tomorrow _._

.~^~.

Kalindra blinked, swiftly returning to the present just as a hand emerged from the blanket of branches and leaves. "A little help?" Leliana's accented voice cut through the now dark night, and Kalindra gripped the woman's hand firmly and pulled. With a minimum of fuss, Leliana ended up next to Kalindra among the leaves and branches, laughing softly as she brushed bits of bracken from her short red hair. "I think I'm better at climbing buildings than trees," she confessed as she worked at a particularly stubborn twig. "And certainly I am no match for you. I've never seen anyone able to ascend so quickly! Are you sure you are not part squirrel?"

The words made Kalindra's eyes widen and her heart pound slightly. Even though the two women were so dissimilar, the particular situation, the words, and the bright red hair made her pause. To cover her silence, Kalindra reached up and gently extracted the twig from Leliana's tresses, smoothing the disturbed hair flat afterwards.

"Oh, thank you. It was giving me such trouble." Leliana shifted so that she could look up easily, head tipped back against the trunk. "Ohh, look! You can see the Necklace from here!"

Kalindra started, tearing her eyes away from Leliana and pushing the lingering memory of Shianni away as she focused on the spray of stars indicated by the human. Gingerly she arranged herself so she would be more comfortable - not close enough to touch, of course, but close enough she could feel the heat of the body next to her. Her eyes stayed on the stars, but her focus was on those who sat on the branch. "They're beautiful."

Silence fell between them. Faint rustlings could be heard from the ground below and the verdant green around them, but it seemed muffled by leaves and distance. Time melted away as Kalindra slowly relaxed, losing awareness of Leliana and truly  _looking_  at the stars once more.

"Do you know the story of the Necklace?" Leliana asked quietly, breaking the stillness. "I could tell it to you. I love stories."

Kalindra smiled, glancing to the woman next to her. "I… I would like that. I like stories, too."

As the story of the Necklace washed over her, Kalindra felt a hand find hers once more. She gently squeezed back, and held on.

.~^~.

The next day, their quarry continued to be elusive. Kalindra pressed the party forward, hoping eventually they would run into the Dalish. As the morning wore on with no sign of the Dalish, however, she acknowledged with an inward sigh that perhaps just wandering aimlessly in the Brecilian Forest was not the best way to achieve their goal. After a moment's consideration, she fell back to walk besides Morrigan, hoping the woman would be able to help her find one of the elusive Clans.

She glanced at Morrigan as they walked, again struck by the apparent unconscious grace and control. The movements seemed fluid and completely natural, but to Kalindra's scrutiny they also spoke of years of practice and self-expectation.  _What would it be like to grow up the daughter of Flemeth? Surely the old witch couldn't be as batty as she pretended to be and survive in the Korcari Wilds._

"Are you simply going to stare at me?" Morrigan asked crisply without looking at her, pulling on the straps of her backpack to ease a bit of tension. "Or is there a reason for your rudeness?"

Kalindra raised an eyebrow. "Says the woman who makes a habit of watching those around her. How often have I found your gaze upon me since you joined us?"

The sharp, short glance she received from Morrigan let her know that her words had scored, but the mage's tone was almost bored when she next spoke. "Surely there is nothing amiss with wishing to learn more about those with whom I journey. I cannot imagine you would wish me to remain ignorant of my traveling companions?" Her mouth formed into a moue of distaste. "Or at least those who are of interest. The bumbling fool I shall continue to ignore as he deserves."

A chuckle escaped Kalindra, and she couldn't help but look to the front of the group where Alistair once again led the vanguard, Sten at his side. As if he felt her eyes on him, he glanced back at the same time, establishing an almost tangible line between their eyes. For a moment she shivered as an odd sensation slipped down her spine, as if someone had run their finger down it with a feather-light touch. She bit the inside of her lip just as he blinked and looked away, his movements a trifle crisper and hands flexing open and closed.

Pulling her own attention to the matter at hand, she turned to Morrigan – and found, to her surprise, a slight frown on the woman's face. "Truly?"

That was all the mage said, but Kalindra frowned.  _I only_ looked _at him._  "He's not the horrible lout you seem to think he is," she chided gently. In part, the admonition was also directed inward. Slowly but surely, the shem was becoming  _Alistair_  more and more in her mind. The process was not complete, of course: every once in a while, when the sun turned his hair red or he scowled while deep in thought, her gut would still churn and her palms would break out into a sweat. Yet the process  _was_  taking place.

Morrigan snorted. "It is of no moment to me whether or not we agree on the matter of the fool as long as we never have to share a tent or a room." Her golden gaze again turned to Kalindra, a question in her expression. "What do you desire of me? I hardly think this is purely a social visit, given our relationship." When Kalindra grimaced, she shook her head slightly. "Oh, do not think that a barb. I am perfectly content to assist you in whatever capacity you deem fit as long as you do not try to dictate my own actions."

With a slight frown, Kalindra shook her head. "You deserve to be more than a silent companion, despite your protest. No matter how you came to join our party, you have proven loyal and capable. The Wardens -  _I_  - am grateful."

Silence greeted her words, and Kalindra could best describe Morrigan's expression as  _inscrutable_  as the mage stared ahead. After a few moments, the golden eyes turned to regard Kalindra with a peculiarly strong intensity. "What do you need?"

"An expertise I am certain you possess." Kalindra smiled as she cocked her head. "In the Wilds before you revealed yourself: you followed us, didn't you?"

Morrigan couldn't quite hide her amusement. "For quite a while. I wondered, back then, why a woman such as yourself would allow herself to be surrounded by those of lesser caliber."

Kalindra instinctively stiffened as Daveth flashed through her mind, but kept her peace. She  _had_  taken control in the Wilds, after all - obviously Morrigan had perceived the situation differently. Firmly she pushed down the tinge of guilt when she secretly agreed with Morrigan in the cases of Jory and Alistair, though her opinion of the latter was changing. "A series of unfortunate events, you could say. At any rate," she continued, ignoring Morrigan's raised eyebrow, "you grew up in the Korcari Wilds, and if what Alistair said about templars and apostates is true, I'm sure you had reasons to conceal yourself over the years. Would you be able to help us track the Dalish? Or are the skills needed for hiding different than those for finding?"

"I—" Morrigan seemed taken aback by the question, and she regarded Kalindra thoughtfully. "That is an excellent question. I am accustomed to evading notice, yet it is a different ability than locating someone. However, there may be signs that should help us find them, or at least narrow down where they are. No matter how skilled their hunters may be, they are still a community that moves in a large group, and signs of their passage cannot be entirely removed."

"Good. I can follow signs as long as I know what to look for. I could follow anyone in the city, I just do not know what to look for out here in the forest." The Brecilian was beautiful, but unfamiliar when all was said and done.

Morrigan nodded, face thoughtful. "There… may be a way." Gesturing to the trees around them, she said, "I recall a technique of the Chasind scouts, used to alert other scouts within their tribes.  _Danger, Clean Water, Bad Water,_ among other things." A corner of her mouth twitched as she tilted her head. "In fact, I am fairly certain that one of their marks meant  _Witch of the Wilds_ , though I never did get the opportunity to inquire directly."

That comment garnered a laugh from Kalindra. "That would have been a  _fascinating_ conversation. Such a pity the opportunity did not present itself."

The woman chuckled, her mouth breaking into a rare smile. "Ah, yes. A true tragedy the circumstance never arose, but then, the Chasind were too busy running from my mother and I whene'er we made an appearance. 'Tis perhaps better that way, I suppose. It would not be prudent to blanket the entire Korcari Wilds with the bones of those too curious or too incautious, after all."

"That would confuse the local wildlife, I gather."

"Oh, for a certainty," Morrigan replied smoothly. "And Flemeth would never have stood for such clutter, at any rate." The mention of her mother seemed to sober her slightly, and her gaze skittered aside. "At any rate, what we are looking for is called a blaze: a small cut made into the bark of the tree which shows the pale flesh beneath. Though the bark easily regrows in a few days, the mark itself shows as white against the trunk of the tree. Though I know not for certain if the Dalish use them, it is a possibility, nonetheless."

"Like that?" Kalindra asked suddenly, slowing to point at a tree a few strides away. Her eyes had begun searching for anomalies in the trees as soon as Morrigan had described it. In this case, an almost triangular shape had been etched into the trunk, its regularity calling attention to the fact it was unnatural. Still, she suspected she would never have noticed it had not Morrigan alerted her to the phenomenon.

Morrigan squinted, then nodded. "Precisely. I would not be surprised to learn the Dalish had several signs as well, and at different heights on the trunk, as the Chasind were wont to do."

Her eyes began to rove over the trees, looking as high as she could reach or as low as would regularly be above the bracken. "Absolutely fascinating. It would have occurred to me to use such a mode of communication." Occasionally she would catch glimpses of other marks on the trees, and soon became absorbed in trying to differentiate between nature and elf-made marks on the tree trunks.

"I suppose cities wouldn't have anything similar," Morrigan replied indifferently.

Kalindra bit her lip in thought, remembering the signals that Slim's crews would use: brightly colored cloths tied to different buildings around the city, denoting 'alert guards', 'easy mark', 'already hit', and other things that thieves needed to communicate without being obvious. On the Thieves' Highway, chalk was used to denote weak roofs, dead ends, or paths that would take a thief too close to the well-patrolled areas of the marketplace. "I wouldn't be so sure. And now that I know what to look for, we should be able to—" She stopped, her eyes going from a white patch of exposed bark down to the cover on the forest floor, particularly to a mixture of grass and gorse, arrested by its appearance. "Morrigan, that greenery… does that look unusually flat to you?"

The mage's eyes narrowed as she considered the area Kalindra indicated. "I suppose it does."

As she veered to take a closer look, Alistair called for a halt. A curious Fen'len was soon at her side as she knelt in the grass, running her hand over the patch of ground that had gotten her attention.

When Morrigan reached her, followed closely by Alistair, she pointed at what were clearly indentations. "It's an imprint of some kind of wheel or slat. Perhaps a wagon?"

"It could be," Alistair ventured, kneeling next to her and trying to measure the grooves with his gauntleted hand. "Certainly I can't imagine a beast or darkspawn that could create tracks such as these." He looked at Kalindra with a smile. "I'm impressed you noticed this."

Kalindra couldn't help but to smile back, though she waved her hand towards where Morrigan had taken a step back. "I never would have known what to look for without Morrigan's advice. All those years living in the Wilds taught her much."

Her fellow Warden glanced at Morrigan, expression dubious. "I suppose…"

"Your vote of confidence is so very overwhelming."

Alistair opened his mouth to retort to Morrigan's barb, but saw Kalindra's silent plea to  _play nice._  With a sigh and a weak grin, he nodded to Morrigan. "Your wisdom has guided us," he said, though each word showed the strain. "Thank you."

Morrigan simply shook her head. "It is simply proof of what we already knew: that the Dalish are in the Brecilian Forest. We shall have to hope they are more tolerant of trespassers in their territory than the Chasind are, and less likely to shoot arrows first and ask questions later."

"Thanks," Kalindra said dryly, and Morrigan's mouth twitched as she  _almost_  smiled. Turning her attention to Alistair, Kalindra said, "Please let the others know we will be heading that way." She pointed at the slightly darker depths of the forest into which the tracks led.

"Right." With a last uncertain glance at Morrigan, he stood and headed back to the group, going first to where Sten stood glaring into the forest around him with suspicion.

Looking at Morrigan, Kalindra admitted, "And now I feel like an idiot for not requesting your aid earlier."

The woman considered Kalindra momentarily before she nodded. "'Tis heartening you thought to ask at all. Mother told me many tales of leaders who failed simply because they assumed that the title bestowed perfection upon them."

Kalindra snorted. "Idiot I may be, but even I'm not  _that_  stupid. I'd rather be made to look the fool than made to fail."

With a thoughtful nod, Morrigan replied, "A wise conclusion. And… thank you." At Kalindra's querying glance, she clarified, "For asking."

"Thank you for answering." With a final little wave, she stood and brushed bits of bracken from her knees, eyes remaining now on the tracks that led deeper into the forest. With their closer than before, her mind again wandered ahead to the Dalish.

 _What would she find?_  The tales of her mother, though alive in this forest, didn't hold the answer to that simple question.


	15. Injustice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams visit two beings fundamentally opposed to each other the night before the Grey Wardens arrive at the Dalish camp.

 

* * *

_I stare at my hands._

_Never have I felt so helpless. Power beyond that of most mages has poured through these fingers, and knowledge unmatched by those who were once my peers resides within my mind, yet I could not prevent the affliction of this heinous evil upon those whom I love most: my family._

_I stare at my hands._

_Always will I feel the blood: his blood, her blood..._ My _blood, all of it, born of my love and my loins, and I could not prevent it spilling to the ground, released by the blades and hate of the shemlen. I held my son's bloodied corpse in my arms after we chased away the bandits, and could do nothing but feel the cold spreading through his body. I found my daughter's bloodied corpse after her knife ended her life, and wept as the crimson river soaked my hands and my robe before my clan found us and pulled me away from her._

_I stare at my hands._

_Forever my revenge will last. Those shemlen will pay for their crimes as long as the blood is on my hands, as long as my rage burns, as long as the blood of those who dared harm my family flows in the veins of_ any _shemlen. I will show no mercy, and I will never relent._

_I stare at my hands, then at the stunned white wolf splayed on the ground in front of me. The blood on my hands, drawn from my own veins, flares as it enhances my magic. I begin to shape my will as I reach out to grasp the wildness of the Forest and bind it to my purpose._

_Justice... I will have justice._

 

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

 

Zathrian's eyes flew open in the dark of his aravel, his breath caught in his throat. For a moment he hung suspended in time, struggling to differentiate between the events of yesteryear and today. The blood thrumming through his veins informed him of the sun's imminent appearance, and habit pulled him from his cot and into his robe. As his hand brushed against his bare head, confusion swept over him.  _Where was the braid that his wife had so adored?_

The thought sparked the rest of the memories, and the breath that had been caught in his throat poured out in a gasp. His hands flew to cover his face, body shuddering as the memories surged through his mind, and the feeling of savage helplessness induced a cold sweat. The bodies of his children merged with the bodies of the hunters lying on their mangled bedrolls outside, the slices and cuts which his son and daughter had suffered transformed into the claw marks and bites of his clansmen and clanswomen.

_The curse of the shemlen is neverending..._

Without conscious guidance, his hand retrieved a soft cloth hanging nearby and ran it over his face and head, wiping away the tears and sweat of his nightmare and recollection. The morning ritual eased him fully into the waking world and chased away the dreams. The thrum of blood in his ears faded into the background as he accepted another day of penance, another day in which he lived and his children did not.

 _I_ will _have justice._

The thought comforted him, despite the nightmare which even now gripped his clan in its grasp. He knew the werewolves sought revenge, in their own twisted, primitive way, yet he would stand strong. As long as his rage endured...

The muscles on his jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth, and he tossed the cloth aside with a controlled motion. Taking up his staff, he eased himself from the aravel and began to walk eastward, towards where the sun was even now peaking over the top of the hill.

He could smell the miasma which hovered over the camp, a melange of blood, fear, despair, and pain. Had his heart still been intact, it would have been broken anew at the thought of yet  _more_  crimes imposed upon his people by those who should have long ago faded from this world. Instead, his fury burned anew, fueled by their recent actions, and the gaze that greeted the sun's rising like an old friend held only implacable resolve to maintain his current course.

The soft footsteps which approached him alerted him to Lanaya's approach, though he did not turn from his contemplation of the sun. "Is there any improvement in their condition?"

"No, Keeper." Her voice held a weariness of recent origin, evidence of her attempts through the night to give respite, if not healing, to the hunters as they thrashed and moaned in the grip of the curse. "Two of the hunters..." The sentence died, but he suspected what she would have said, and her next words confirmed it _._  "Their wounds- The curse- They begged us to end it."

Zathrian nodded. He'd warned Lanaya and the Hahren of the possibility, but how could anyone prepare for such an action? He sighed, finally turning to face Lanaya. Laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, he said, "And?"

"We-we gave them the drink you left in case..." Her throat moved as she swallowed harshly, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "They rest peacefully in the arms of the Guide, now." The knuckles on her hands where they gripped her staff had been squeezed into pure white. "I-I felt so helpless."

 _Helpless..._  "I understand," he replied softly. "Yet the Keeper and the First must serve as the hands of  _all_  the Creators to those in the clan, from Mythal's blessing when they first enter the world to Falon'din's comfort when they pass into the Beyond." He squeezed her shoulder. "This scourge will pass. Trust in the Creators."  _And me._

Her head bowed as she took a deep breath. "Y-yes, Keeper."

"Go, seek the comfort of rest." He kept his voice low and kind, seeing the exhaustion in the set of her shoulders and hearing it in the quiver in her voice. "I will continue to seek a cure." Though he had said the same every day since the attack, he now felt a bit more hope. His dreams had, perhaps, provided an answer.

As Lanaya walked away, he turned and looked into the Forest, seeking the one in his thoughts.

_Witherfang..._

Of course, he did not yet know  _how_ to bring the plan forming in his mind to fruition. Still, he had confidence that he would indeed find a way.

 

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

 

_I am the Forest, and the Forest is within me._

_The wind sings in my ears, the soil whispers its secrets to me, and each tree is but an extension into the world._ _I am free, unfettered, unbound. I hear all that occurs within my boundaries: each mating call, each cry of challenge, each crack of a branch and song of a bird. I sense the beginnings and the endings: each seed that sprouts, each plant that is trampled, each death as the animals vie for food and dominance. Any blood which soaks the ground, whether from a blade or a claw, simply becomes part of the constant flow of energy which perpetuates the entity of the Forest. I welcome the flow of hot liquid, and never truly understand the cause. I am life, and I am death._

_I am the Forest, and the Forest is within me._

_They come into my trees, these odd creatures of two legs which are not made of wood, and I welcome them. Others follow and I feel the hot liquid spill more frequently after their arrival, adding to my energy even as it changes it. I feel the darkness build, the cold and chill of the Beyond swelling, and I know that something has been torn. My energy is consumed and altered, and I change from what I was of old. Some of my children change with me: Sylvans twist and darken, wolves hunt without surcease, and plants learn to hide where before they needed only_ be _._

_I am the Forest, and the Forest is within me..._

_For the first time I feel the passage of years, and I weep knowing how much I have changed. The seemingly endless flow of hot liquid has come to an end but the constant zephyr of cold which permeates the Forest from the Beyond weakens me and dims my awareness. Thus, I do not see the single two-legged creature who will change me forever - not until it is too late. He has the wolf down before I understand his nature, his own hot liquid - his blood - falling into my soil, summoning me and_ changing _me, pulling me from the Forest and sending me into the white wolf._

_I am no longer the Forest. I am blind, bereft, and bleeding within. I feel rage and fear and pain. I hear the words telling me that which I must do, that which I must be, and I listen, doing as the magic of the blood bids me. My Father sends me into the Forest, to attack the two-legged ones who angered him. I do as I am commanded, biting and clawing, leaving them to live and to share in my misery._

_I am Witherfang, and the curse is within me..._

 

.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.~^~.

 

The eyes of the Lady of the Forest flew open in the dark of the ruins, the chill of stone around her reminiscent of the cold of the Beyond in her dream. Around her echoed the raspy breathing of her children as they slept, their restlessness reflected in twitching ears and flexing clawed fingers. Slowly she climbed to her feet and moved to stand in the beam of sunlight which penetrated into the chamber, turning her eyes of night up to search for the day.

She could not recollect the exact moment when Witherfang had discovered the warmth of  _lucidity._ So much time had passed since her entrapment and transformation, it seemed as if she had woken into a new world. She only knew that the memory of the pain and rage which drove her four-legged self faded the longer she walked upon two legs, and her weariness increased no matter which form she wore.

Ah, she simply wanted an  _end..._

Her gaze moved to those who slept on the floor of stone bricks behind her, a frown on her face. She was their Mother, it could not be denied, though the role was one she had only slowly come to understand. Though she had once  _been_  all of what was now known as the Brecilian Forest, she had not known the true meaning of love and loss and  _family_  until she had gained two legs and first heard the word  _Mother_  spoken to her by one she now called her Son.

The faintest hint of a sound at her side attracted her attention, and she turned to find Swiftrunner in a posture of respect beside her. "Eldest Son," she greeted him, her voice as a wind amongst the ruins. "Is there yet word from the elves?"

"Zathrian does not emerge from the safety of the camp. Our scouts report that he seeks only to cure his people, and will not engage us." The words growled on the edge of understanding, not helped by the werewolf's inherent frustration with the situation. "We have recovered one of their own, but she refuses to return to her people to speak for us, and dwells only in her pain."

"Be kind to her. You were once as she, lost amidst your darkness and despair." Glancing up at the light, she stepped forward into the ray of sun once more, reveling in the warmth of the sun on her skin. "This is a delicate matter. We cannot force his hand in this; we can only give him reason to speak with us."

"And once we speak with him, what then? What if he refuses?"

The Lady smiled inwardly, though she kept her expression calm and serene. Swiftrunner asked the question every day, and she always had the same answer. "It will still end."

Swiftrunner growled - as he always did in response to that answer - and shook himself. Around them his brethren started awake at the sound, some even rising into a defensive posture before they realized it was just one of Swiftrunner's 'moods.' "You know I do not like that answer."

"It is the only one I have to give, for now." She reached out and soothed a hand over his face, remembering the birth of each scar on his torn visage. "Have patience, my Swiftrunner."

His growl this time was more subdued, fading into a light whine. "Yes, Lady."

She nodded, then turned her attention to the sun above. Though she knew not how it would happen, she knew that an end would soon come.

Perhaps she would have another dream that would tell her  _how_.


End file.
